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With every muscle of his body and neck he strained 
and strained. 

Frontispiece. See page 318 


THE VANISHED 
MESSENGER 


BY 

E. PHILLIPS OPPENHEIM 

•) 

AUTHOR OF “a PEOPLE’s MAN,” ‘*THE MISCHIEF MAKER,” 
“the tempting of TAVERNAKE,” ETC. 


WITH ILLUSTRATIONS BY 

C. H. TAFFS 



BOSTON 

LITTLE, BROWN, AND COMPANY 


1915 


Copyright, 19 

By Little, Brown, and Company. 
All rights reserved 


Published, August, 1914 
Reprinted, September, 1914 (twice) 
November, 1914 

// 


iptfittttd 

S. J. Pabkhill Co., Boston, U.S.A. 


LIST OP ILLUSTRATIONS 


With every muscle of his body and neck he strained 

and strained Frontispiece 

Mr. John P. Dunster was lying quite still . . . Page 18 

“ The subject of my thoughts is my excuse. I have 


been thinking of you ” “ 218 

“You realize, I suppose, that the country is on 

the brink of war?’’ “257 


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THE VANISHED MESSENGER 


CHAPTER I 

There were very few people upon Platform Number 
Twenty-one of Liverpool Street Station at a quarter 
to nine on the evening of April 2 — - possibly because 
the platform in question is one of the most remote and 
least used in the great terminus. The station-master, 
however, was there himself, with an inspector in at- 
tendance. A dark, thick-set man, wearing a long 
travelling ulster and a Homburg hat, and carrying in 
his hand a brown leather dressing-case, across which 
was painted in black letters the name MR. JOHN P. 
DUNSTER, was standing a few yards away, smoking 
a long cigar, and to all appearance absorbed in 
studying the advertisements which decorated the 
grimy wall on the other side of the single track. A 
couple of porters were seated upon a barrow which 
contained one solitary portmanteau. There were no 
signs of other passengers, no other luggage. As a 
matter of fact, according to the time-table, no train 
was due to leave the station or to arrive at it, on this 
particular platform, for several hours. 

Down at the other end of the platform the wooden 


2 THE VANISHED MESSENGER 

barrier was thrust back, and a porter with some lug- 
gage upon a barrow made his noisy approach. He 
was followed by a tall young man in a grey tweed suit 
and a straw hat on which were the colours of a famous 
cricket club. 

The inspector watched them curiously. “ Lost his 
way, I should think,” he observed. 

The station-master nodded. “ It looks like the 
young man who missed the boat train,” he remarked. 
“ Perhaps he has come to beg a lift.” 

The young man in question made steady progress 
up the platform. His hands were thrust deep into 
the pockets of his coat, and his forehead was con- 
tracted in a frown. As he approached more closely, 
he singled out Mr. John P. Dunster, and motioning 
his porter to wait, crossed to the edge of the track 
and addressed him. 

‘‘ Can I speak to you for a moment, sir? ” 

Mr. John P. Dunster turned at once and faced his 
questioner. He did so without haste — with a certain 
deliberation, in fact — yet his eyes were suddenly 
bright and keen. He was neatly dressed, with the 
quiet precision which seems as a rule to characterise 
the travelling American. He was apparently of a 
little less than middle-age, clean-shaven, broad- 
shouldered, with every appearance of physical 
strength. He seemed like a man on wires, a man on 
the alert, likely to miss nothing. 

“ Are you Mr. John P. Dunster? ” the youth asked. 

‘‘ I carry my visiting-card in my hand, sir,” the 
other replied, swinging his dressing-case around. 
“ My name is John P. Dunster.” 

The young man’s expression was scarcely ingrati- 


THE VANISHED MESSENGER 3 

ating. To a natural sullenness was added now the 
nervous distaste of one who approaches a disagreeable 
task. 

“ I want, if I may, to ask you a favour,” he con- 
tinued. “ If you don’t feel like granting it, please 
say no and I’ll be off at once. I am on my way to The 
Hague. I was to have gone by the boat train which 
left half an hour ago. I had taken a seat, and they 
assured me that the train would not leave for at least 
ten minutes, as the mails weren’t in. I went down the 
platform to buy some papers and stood talking for a 
moment or two with a man whom I know. I suppose 
I must have been longer than I thought, or they must 
have been quicker than they expected with the mail- 
bags. Anyhow, when I came back the train was mov- 
ing. They would not let me jump in. I could have 
done it easily, but that fool of an inspector over there 
held me.” 

“ They are very strict in this country, I know,” 
Mr. Dunster agreed, without change of expression. 
“ Please go on.” 

‘‘I saw you arrive — just too late for the train. 
While I was swearing at the inspector, I heard you 
speak to the station-master. Since then I have made 
inquiries. I understand that you have ordered a 
special train to Harwich.” 

Mr. John P. Dunster said nothing, only his keen, 
clear eyes seemed all the time to be questioning this 
gloomy-looking but apparently harmless young man. 

‘‘ I went to the station-master’s office,” the latter 
continued, “ and tried to persuade them to let me 
ride in the guard’s van of your special, but he made 
a stupid fuss about it, so I thought I’d better come 


4 THE VANISHED MESSENGER 

to you. Can I beg a seat in your compartment, or 
anywhere in the train, as far as Harwich.? ” 

Mr. Dunster avoided, for the moment, a direct re- 
ply. He had the air of a man who, whether reason- 
ably or unreasonably, disliked the request which had 
been made to him. 

“ You are particularly anxious to cross to-night? ” 
he asked. 

“ I am,” the youth admitted emphatically. “ I 
never ought to have risked missing the train. I am 
due at The Hague to-morrow.” 

Mr. John P. Dunster moved his position a little. 
The light from a rain-splashed gas lamp shone now 
full upon the face of his suppliant: a boy’s face, 
which would have been pleasant and even handsome 
but for the discontented mouth, the lowering fore- 
head, and a shadow in the eyes, as though, boy though 
he certainly was in years, he had already, at some 
time or another, looked upon the serious things of 
life. His nervousness, too, was almost grotesque. 
He had the air of disliking immensely this asking 
a favour from a stranger. Mr. Dunster appreciated 
all these things, but there were reasons which made 
him slow in granting the young man’s request. 

“ What is the nature of your pressing business at 
The Hague ? ” he asked. 

The youth hesitated. 

‘‘ I am afraid,” he said grimly, “ that you will not 
think it of much importance. I am on my way to 
play in a golf tournament there.” 

A golf tournament at The Hague ! ” Mr. Dunster 
repeated, in a slightly altered tone. “ What is your 
name ? ” 


THE VANISHED MESSENGER 5 

“ Gerald Fentolin.” 

Mr. Dunster stood quite still for a moment. He 
was possessed of a wonderful memory, and he was 
conscious at that moment of a subtle appeal to it. 
Fentolin! There was something in the name which 
seemed to him somehow associated with the things 
against which he was on guard. He stood with puz- 
zled frown, reminiscent for several minutes, unsuc- 
cessful. Then he suddenly smiled, and moving under- 
neath the gas lamp, shook open an evening paper 
which he had been carrying. He turned over the 
pages until he arrived at the sporting items. Here, 
in almost the first paragraph, he saw the name 
which had happened to catch his eye a moment or 
two before: 

GOLF AT THE HAGUE 

Among the entrants for the tournament which com- 
mences to-morrow, are several well-known English 
players, including Mr. Barwin, Mr. Parrott, Mr. Hillard 
and Mr. Gerald Fentolin. 

Mr. Dunster folded up the newspaper and replaced 
it in his pocket. He turned towards the young man. 

“ So you’re a golfer, are you.?* ” 

“ I play a bit,” was the somewhat indifferent reply. 

Mr. Dunster turned to another part of the paper 
and pointed to the great black head-lines. 

“ Seems a queer thing for a young fellow like you 
to be worrying about games,” he remarked. “ I 
haven’t been in this country more than a few hours, 
but I expected to find all the young men getting 
ready.” 

“ Getting ready for what? ” 


6 THE VANISHED MESSENGER 

“ Why, to fight, of course,” Mr. Dunster replied. 
‘‘ Seems pretty clear that there’s an expeditionary 
force being fitted out, according to this evening’s 
paper, somewhere up in the North Sea. The only 
Englishman I’ve spoken to on this side was willing to 
lay me odds that war would be declared within a 
week.” 

The young man’s lack of interest was curious. 

“ I am not in the army,” he said. “ It really 
doesn’t affect me.” 

Mr. Dunster stared at him. 

‘‘ You’ll forgive my curiosity,” he said, ‘‘ but say, 
is there nothing you could get into and fight if this 
thing came along ” 

“ Nothing at all, that I know of,” the youth replied 
coolly. “ War is an affair which concerns only the 
military and naval part of two countries. The civil 
population — ” 

“ Plays golf, I suppose,” Mr. Dunster interrupted. 
“ Young man, I haven’t been in England for some 
years, and you rather take my breath away. All the 
same, you can come along with me as far as Harwich.” 

The young man showed signs of some satisfaction. 

“ I am very much obliged to you, sir,” he de- 
clared. “ I promise you I won’t be in the way.” 

The station-master, who had been looking through 
a little pile of telegrams brought to him by a clerk 
from his office, now turned towards them. His ex- 
pression was a little grave. 

“ Your special will be backing down directly, sir,” 
he announced, “ but I am sorry to say that we hear 
very bad accounts of the line. They say that this is 
only the fag-end of the storm that we are getting 


THE VANISHED MESSENGER 7 

here, and that it’s been raging for nearly twenty- 
four hours on the east coast. I doubt whether the 
Harwich boat will be able to put olf.” 

“We must take our chance about that,” Duns ter 
remarked. “ If the mail boat doesn’t run, I presume 
there will be something else we can charter.” 

The station-master looked the curiosity which he 
did not actually express in words. 

“ Money will buy most things, nowadays, sir,” he 
observed, “ but if it isn’t fit for our mail boat, it cer- 
tainly isn’t fit for anything else that can come into 
Harwich Harbour. However, you’ll hear what they 
say when you get there.” 

Mr. Dunster nodded and relapsed into a taciturn- 
ity which was obviously one of his peculiarities. The 
young man strolled down the platform, and catching 
up with the inspector, touched him on the shoulder. 

“ Do you know who the fellow is ? ” he asked curi- 
ously, “ It’s awfully decent of him to let me go with 
him, but he didn’t seem very keen about it.” 

The inspector shook his head. 

“No idea, sir,” he replied. “ He drove up just 
two minutes after the train had gone, came straight 
into the office and ordered a special. Paid for it, 
too, in Bank of England notes before he went out. 
I fancy he’s an American, and he gave his name as 
John P. Dunster.” 

The young man paused to light a cigarette. 

“ If he’s an American, I suppose that accounts for 
it,” he observed. “ He must be in a precious hurry 
to get somewhere, though.” 

“ A night like this, too ! ” the inspector remarked, 
with a shiver. “ I wouldn’t leave London myself un- 


8 THE VANISHED MESSENGER 

less I had to. They say there’s a tremendous storm 
blowing on the east coast. Here comes the train, sir 
— just one saloon and the guard’s van.” 

The little train backed slowly along the platform 
side. The engine was splashed with mud and soak- 
ing wet. The faces of the engine-driver and his com- 
panion shone from the dripping rain. The station- 
master held open the door of the saloon. 

“ You’ve a rough journey before you, sir,” he said. 
“ You’ll catch the boat all right, though — if it goes. 
The mail train was very heavy to-night. You 
should catch her up this side of Colchester.” 

Mr. Dunster nodded. 

“ I am taking this young gentleman with me,” he 
announced shortly. “ It seems that he, too, missed 
the train. I am much obliged to you, station-master, 
for your attention. Good night ! ” 

They were about to start when Mr. Dunster once 
more let down the window. 

“ By the way,” he said, “ as it is such a wild night, 
you will oblige me very much if you will tell the en- 
gine-driver that there will be a five pound note for 
himself and his companion if we catch the mail. In- 
spector ! ” 

The inspector touched his hat. The station-master 
had turned discreetly away. He had been an in- 
spector himself once, and sovereigns had been useful 
to him, too. Then the train glided from the platform 
side, plunged with a scream through a succession of 
black tunnels, and with rapidly increasing speed faced 
the storm. 


CHAPTER II 


The young man sat on one side of the saloon and 
Mr. John P. Dunster on the other. Although both of 
them were provided with a certain amount of rail- 
way literature, neither of them made any pretence at 
reading. The older man, with his feet upon the op- 
posite seat and his arms folded, was looking pensively 
through the rain-splashed window-pane into the im- 
penetrable darkness. The young man, although he 
could not ignore his companion’s unsociable instincts, 
was fidgety, 

“ There will be some floods out to-morrow,” he 
remarked. 

Mr. Dunster turned his head and looked across the 
saloon. There was something in the deliberate man- 
ner of his doing so, and his hesitation before he spoke, 
which seemed intended to further impress upon the 
young man the fact that he was not disposed for 
conversation. 

“ Very likely,” was his sole reply. 

Gerald Fentolin sighed as though he regretted his 
companion’s taciturnity and a few minutes later 
strolled to the farther end of the saloon. He spent 
some time trying to peer through the streaming win- 
dow into the darkness. He chatted for a few minutes 
with the guard, who was, however, in a bad temper 
at having had to turn out and who found little to say. 
Then he took one of his golf clubs from the bag and 


10 THE VANISHED MESSENGER 

indulged in several half swings. Finally he stretched 
himself out upon one of the seats and closed his eyes. 

“ May as well try to get a nap,” he yawned. 
“ There won’t be much chance on the steamer, if it 
blows like this.” 

Mr. Dunster said nothing. His face was set, his 
eyes were looking somewhere beyond the confines of 
the saloon in which he was seated. So they travelled 
for over an hour. The young man seemed to be doz- 
ing in earnest when, with a succession of jerks, the 
train rapidly slackened speed. Mr. Dunster let down 
the window. The interior of the carriage was at 
once thrown into confusion. A couple of newspapers 
were caught up and whirled around, a torrent of rain 
beat in. Mr. Dunster rapidly closed the window and 
rang the bell. The guard came in after a moment 
or two. His clothes were shiny from the wet; rain- 
drops hung from his beard. 

“ What is the matter ? ” Mr. Dunster demanded. 
“ Why are we waiting here? ” 

“ There’s a block on the line somewhere, sir,” the 
man replied. “ Can’t tell where exactly. The sig- 
nals are against us ; that’s all we know at present.” 

They crawled on again in about ten minutes, 
stopped, and resumed their progress at an even slower 
rate. Mr. Dunster once more summoned the guard. 

“ Why are we travelling like this ? ” he asked im- 
patiently. “ We shall never catch the boat.” 

“We shall catch the boat all right if it runs, sir,” 
the man assured him. “ The mail is only a mile or 
two ahead of us; that’s one reason why we have to 
go so slowly. Then the water is right over the line 
where we are now, and we can’t get any news at all 


THE VANISHED MESSENGER ii 


from the other side of Ipswich. If it goes on like 
this, some of the bridges will be down*, that’s what 
I’m afraid of.” 

Mr. Dunster frowned. For the first time he showed 
some signs of uneasiness. 

“ Perhaps,” he muttered, half to himself, a motor- 
car would have been better.” 

“ Not on your life,” his young companion inter- 
vened. “ All the roads to the coast here cros§ no 
end of small bridges — much weaker affairs than the 
railway bridges. I bet there are some of those down 
already. Besides, you wouldn’t be able to see where 
you were going, on a night like this.” 

“ There appears to be a chance,” Mr. Dunster re- 
marked drily, “ that you will have to scratch for your 
competition to-morrow.” 

“ Also,” the young man observed, that you will 
have taken this special train for nothing. I can’t 
fancy the Harwich boat going out a night like this.” 

Mr. Dunster relapsed into stony but anxious silence. 
The train continued its erratic progress, sometimes 
stopping altogether for a time, with whistle blowing 
repeatedly; sometimes creeping along the metals as 
though feeling its way to safety. At last, after a 
somewhat prolonged wait, the guard, whose hoarse 
voice they had heard on the platform of the small sta- 
tion in which they were standing, entered the carriage. 
With him came a gust of wind, once more sending the 
papers flying around the compartment. The rain 
dripped from his clothes on to the carpet. He had 
lost his hat, his hair was tossed with the wind, his 
face was bleeding from a slight wound on the temple. 

“ The boat train’s just ahead of us, sir,” he an- 


12 THE VANISHED MESSENGER 

nounced. “ She can’t get on any better than we can. 
We’ve just heard that there’s a bridge down on the 
line between Ipswich and Harwich.” 

“What are we going to do, then? ” Mr. Dunster 
demanded. 

“ That’s just what I’ve come to ask you, sir,” the 
guard replied. “ The mail’s going slowly on as far 
as Ipswich. I fancy they’ll lie by there until the 
morning. The best thing that I can see is, if you’re 
agreeable, to take you back to London. We can 
very likely do that all right, if we start at once.” 

Mr. Dunster, ignoring the man’s suggestion, drew 
from one of the voluminous pockets of his ulster a 
small map. He spread it open upon the table before 
him and studied it attentively. 

“ If I cannot get to Harwich,” he asked, “ is there 
any possibility of keeping straight on and reaching 
Yarmouth? ” 

The guard hesitated. 

“We haven’t heard anything about the line from 
Ipswich to Norwich, sir,” he replied, “ but we can’t 
very well change our course without definite instruc- 
tions.” 

“ Your definite instructions,” Mr. Dunster reminded 
him drily, “ were to take me to Harwich. You have 
been forced to depart from them. I see no harm 
in your adopting any suggestions I may have to make 
concerning our altered destination. I will pay the 
extra mileage, naturally.” 

“ How far did you wish to go, sir ? ” the guard en- 
qviired. 

“ To Yarmouth,” Mr. Dunster replied firmly. “ If 
there are bridges down, and communication with Har- 


THE VANISHED MESSENGER 13 

wich is blocked, Yarmouth would suit me better than 
anywhere.” 

The guard shook his head. 

“ I couldn’t go on that way, sir, without instruc- 
tions.” 

“ Is there a telegraph office at this station ” Mr. 
Dunster inquired. 

“ We can speak anywhere on the line,” the guard 
replied. 

“ Then wire to the station-master at Liverpool 
Street,” Mr. Dunster instructed. “ You can get a 
reply from him in the course of a few minutes. Ex- 
plain the situation and tell him what my wishes are.” 

The guard hesitated. 

‘‘ It’s a goodish way from here to Norwich,” he 
observed, “ and for all we know — ” 

“ When we left Liverpool Street Station,” Mr. 
Dunster interrupted, ‘‘ I promised five pounds each 
to you, the engine-driver, and his mate. That five 
pounds shall be made twenty-five if you succeed in 
getting me to the coast. Do your best for me.” 

The guard raised his hat and departed without an- 
other word. 

“ It will probably suit you better,” Mr. Dunster 
continued, turning to his companion, ‘‘ to leave me at 
Ipswich and join the mail.” 

The latter shook his head. 

‘‘ I don’t see that there’s any chance, anyway, of 
my getting over in time now,” he remarked. “ If 
you’ll take me on with you as far as Norwich, I can 
go quietly home from there.’’ 

“ You live in this part of the world, then? ” Mr. 
Dunster asked. 


14 THE VANISHED MESSENGER 

The young man assented. Again there was a cer- 
tain amount of hesitation in his manner, 

I live some distance the other side of Norwich,” 
he said. “ I don’t want to sponge on you too much,” 
he went on, ‘‘ but if you’re really going to stick 
it out and try and get there, I’d like to go on, too. 
I am afraid I can’t offer to share the expense, but 
I’d work my passage if there was anything to be 
done.” 

Mr. Dunster drummed for a moment upon the table 
with his fingers. All the time the young man had been 
speaking, his eyes had been studying his face. He 
turned now once more to his map. 

“ It was my idea,” he said, “ to hire a steam trawler 
from Yarmouth. If I do so, you can, if you wish, ac- 
company me so far as the port at which we may land 
in Holland. On the other hand, to be perfectly frank 
with you, I should prefer to go alone. There will be, 
no doubt, a certain amount of risk in crossing to- 
night. My own business is of importance. A golf 
tournament, however, is scarcely worth risking your 
life for, is it.^^ ” 

“ Oh, I don’t know about that ! ” the young man 
replied grimly. ‘‘ I fancy I should rather like it. 
Let’s see whether we can get on to Norwich, any- 
how, shall we.?^ We may find that there are bridges 
down on that line.” 

They relapsed once more into silence. Presently 
the guard reappeared. 

‘‘ Instructions to take you on to Yarmouth, if pos- 
sible, sir,” he announced, “ and to collect the mileage 
at our destination.” 

That will be quite satisfactory,” Mr. Dunster 


THE VANISHED MESSENGER 15 

agreed. “ Let us be off, then, as soon as possible.” 

Presently they crawled on. They passed the boat 
train in Ipswich Station, where they stayed for a 
few moments. Mr. Dunster bought wine and sand- 
wiches, and his companion followed his example. 
Then they continued their journey. An hour or 
more passed; the storm showed no signs of abate- 
ment. Their speed now rarely exceeded ten or fif- 
teen miles an hour. Mr. Dunster smoked all the 
time, occasionally rubbing the window-pane and try- 
ing to look out. Gerald Fentolin slept fitfully. 

“ Have you any idea where we are.^^ ” Mr. Dunster 
asked once. 

The boy cautiously let down the window a little 
way. With the noise of the storm came another 
sound, to which he listened for a moment with puz- 
zled face: a dull, rumbling sound like the falling of 
water. He closed the window, breathless. 

“ I don’t think we are far from Norwich. We 
passed Forncett, anyhow, some time ago.” 

“ Still raining? ” 

In torrents ! I can’t see a yard ahead of me. 
I bet we get some floods after this. I expect they 
are out now, if one could only see.” 

They crept on. Suddenly, above the storm, they 
heard what sounded at first like the booming of a 
gun, and then a shrill whistle from some distance 
ahead. They felt the jerk as their brakes were hast- 
ily applied, the swaying of the little train, and then 
the crunching of earth beneath them, the roar of es- 
caping steam as their engine ploughed its way on into 
the road bed. 

“ Off the rails ! ” the boy cried, springing to his 


i6 THE VANISHED MESSENGER 

feet. Hold on tightly, sir. I’d keep away from 
the window.*^ 

The carriage swayed and rocked. Suddenly a tele- 
graph post seemed to come crashing through the 
window and the polished mahogany panels. The 
young man escaped it by leaping to one side. It 
caught Mr. Dunster, who had just risen to his feet, 
upon the forehead. There was a crash all around of 
splitting glass, a further shock. They were both 
thrown off their feet*. The light was suddenly ex- 
tinguished. With the crashing of glass, the splitting 
of timber — a hideous, tearing sound — the wrecked 
saloon, dragging the engine half-way over with it, 
slipped down a low embankment and lay on its side, 
what remained of it, in a field of turnips. 


CHAPTER III 


As the young man staggered to his feet, he had 
somehow a sense of detachment, as though he were 
commencing a new life, or had suddenly come into a 
new existence. Yet his immediate surroundings were 
charged with ugly reminiscences. Through a great 
gap in the ruined side of the saloon the rain was 
tearing in. As he stood up, his head caught the 
fragments of the roof. He was able to push back 
the wreckage with ease and step out. For a moment 
he reeled, as he met the violence of the storm. Then, 
clutching hold of the side of the wreck, he steadied 
himself. A light was moving back and forth, close 
at hand. He cried out weakly : “ Hullo ! ” 

A man carrying a lantern, bent double as he made 
his way against the wind, crawled up to them. He 
was a porter from the station close at hand. 

“ My God ! ” he exclaimed. Any one alive here ? ” 
“ I’m all right,” Gerald muttered, “ at least, I 
suppose I am. What’s it all — what’s it all about ? 
We’ve had an accident.” 

The porter caught hold of a piece of the wreckage 
with which to steady himself. 

Your train ran right into three feet of water,” 
he answered. “ The rails had gone — tom up. The 
telegraph line’s down.” 

“ Why didn’t you stop the train ? ” 

“ W« were doing all we could,” the man retorted 


i8 THE VANISHED MESSENGER 

gloomily. We weren’t expecting anything else 
through to-night. We’d a man along the line with 
a lantern, but he’s just been found blown over the 
embankment, with his head in a pool of water. Any 
one else in your carriage ? ” 

“ One gentleman travelling with me,” Gerald an- 
swered. “ We’d better try to get him out. What 
about the guard and engine-driver ” 

“ The engine-driver and stoker are both alive,” 
the porter told him. “ I came across them before I 
saw you. They’re both knocked sort of sillylike, but 
they aren’t much hurt. The guard’s stone dead.” 

Where are we ? ” 

“ A few hundred yards from Wymondham. Let’s 
have a look for the other gentleman.” 

Mr. John P. Dunster was lying quite still, his 
right leg doubled up, and a huge block of telegraph 
post, which the saloon had carried with it in its fall, 
still pressing against his forehead. He groaned as 
they dragged him out and laid him down upon a 
cushion in the shelter of the wreckage. 

‘‘ He’s alive all right,” the porter remarked. 

There’s a doctor on the way. Let’s cover him up 
quick and wait.” 

‘‘Can’t we carry him to shelter of some sort.?” 
Gerald proposed. 

The man shook his head. Speech of any sort was 
difficult. Even with his lips close to the other’s ears, 
he had almost to shout. 

“ Couldn’t be done,” he replied. “ It’s all one can 
do to walk alone when you get out in the middle of 
the field, away from the shelter of the embankment 
here, There’s bits of trees flying all down the lane. 



Mr. John P. Dunster was lying quite still. 


i’ 


Page 18 





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THE VANISHED MESSENGER ig 

Never was such a night! Folks is fair afraid of the 
morning to see what’s happened. There’s a mill 
blown right over on its side in the next field, and the 
man in charge of it lying dead. This poor chap’s 
bad enough.” 

Gerald, on all fours, had crept back into the com- 
partment. The bottle of wine was smashed into 
atoms. He came out, dragging the small dressing- 
case which his companion had kept on the table be- 
fore him. One side of it was dented in, but the lock, 
which was of great strength, still held. 

‘‘ Perhaps there’s a flask somewhere in this dressing- 
case,” Gerald said. ‘‘ Lend me a knife.” 

Strong though it had been, the lock was already 
almost torn out from its foundation. They forced 
the spring and opened it. The porter turned his lan- 
tern on the widening space. Just as Gerald was 
raising the lid very slowly to save the contents from 
being scattered by the wind, the man turned his head 
to answer an approaching hail. Gerald raised the 
lid a little higher and suddenly closed it with a bang. 

“ There’s folks coming at last ! ” the porter ex- 
claimed, turning around excitedly. “ They’ve been 
a time and no mistake. The village isn’t a quarter 
of a mile away. Did you find a flask, sir.?” 

Gerald made no answer. The dressing-case once 
more was closed, and his hand pressed upon the lid. 
The porter turned the light upon his face and whis- 
tled softly. 

“ You’re about done yourself, sir,” he remarked. 
« Hold up.” 

He caught the young man in his arms. There was 
another roar in Gerald’s ears besides the roar of the 


20 THE VANISHED MESSENGER 

wind. He had never fainted in his life, but the feel- 
ing was upon him now — a deadly sickness, a sway- 
ing of the earth. The porter suddenly gave a little 
cry. 

“ If I’m not a born idiot ! ” he exclaimed, drawing 
a bottle from the pocket of his coat with his disen- 
gaged hand. “ There’s whisky here. I was taking 
it home to the missis for her rheumatism. Now, 
then.” 

He drew the cork from the bottle with his teeth 
and forced some of the liquid between the lips of the 
young man. The voices now were coming nearer 
and nearer. Gerald made a desperate effort. 

“ I am all right,” he declared. ‘‘ Let’s look after 
him.” 

They groped their way towards the unconscious 
man, Gerald still gripping the dressing-case with both 
hands. There were no signs of any change in his con- 
dition, but he was still breathing heavily. Then they 
heard a shout behind, almost in their ears. The por- 
ter staggered to his feet. 

“ It’s all right now, sir ! ” he exclaimed. “ They’ve 
brought blankets and a stretcher and brandy. Here’s 
a doctor, sir.” 

A powerful-looking man, hatless, and wrapped in 
a great ulster, moved towards them. 

“ How many are there of you? ” he asked, as he 
bent over Mr. Dunster. 

‘‘ Only we two,” Gerald replied. “ Is my friend 
badly hurt? ” 

“ Concussion,” the doctor announced. “ We’ll take 
him to the village. What about you, young man? 
Your face is bleeding, I see.” 


THE VANISHED MESSENGER 21 


Just a cut,” Gerald faltered; “ nothing else.” 

“ Lucky chap,” the doctor remarked. “ Let’s get 
him to shelter of some sort. Come along. There’s 
an inn at the corner of the lane there.” 

They all staggered along, Gerald still clutching the 
dressing-case, and supported on the other side by an 
excited and somewhat incoherent villager. 

“ Such a storm as never was,” the latter volun- 
teered. ‘‘ The telegraph wires are all down for miles 
and miles. There won’t be no trains running along 
this line come many a week, and as for trees — why, 
it’s as though some one had been playing ninepins 
in Squire Fellowes’s park. When the morning do 
come, for sure there will be things to be seen. This 
way, sir. Be careful of the gate.” 

They staggered along down the lane, climbing once 
over a tree which lay across the lane and far into the 
adjoining field. Soon they were joined by more of 
the villagers, roused from their beds by rumours of 
terrible happenings. The little, single-storey, ivy- 
covered inn was all lit up and the door held firmly 
open. They passed through the narrow entrance 
and into the stone-flagged barroom, where the men laid 
down their stretcher. As many of the villagers as 
could crowd in filled the passage. Gerald sank into 
a chair. The sudden absence of wind was almost dis- 
concerting. He felt himself once more in danger of 
fainting. He was only vaguely conscious of drinking 
hot milk, poured from a jug by a red-faced and sym- 
pathetic woman. Its restorative effect, however, was 
immediate and wonderful. The mist cleared from be- 
fore his eyes, his brain began to work. Always in the 
background the horror and the shame were there, the 


22 THE VANISHED MESSENGER 

shame which kept his hand pressed with unnatural 
strength upon the broken lock of that dressing-case. 
He sat a little apart from the others and listened. 
Above the confused murmur of voices he could hear 
the doctor’s comment and brief orders, as he rose to 
his feet after examining the unconscious man. 

“ An ordinary concussion,” he declared. “ I must 
get round and see the engine-driver now. They have 
got him in a shed by the embankment. I’ll call in 
again later on. Let’s have one more look at you, 
young man.” 

He glanced at the cut on Gerald’s forehead, noted 
the access of colour in his cheeks, and nodded. 

‘‘ Born to be hanged, you were,” he pronounced. 
‘‘ You’ve had a marvellous escape. I’ll be in again 
presently. No need to worry about your friend. 
He looks as though he’d got a mighty constitution. 
Light my lantern. Brown. Two of you had better 
come with me to the shed. It’s no night for a man 
to be wandering about alone.” 

He departed, and many of the villagers with him. 
The landlady sat down and began to weep. 

“ Such a night ! Such a night ! ” she exclaimed, 
wringing her hands. “ And there’s the doctor talks 
about putting the poor gentleman to bed ! Why, the 
roof’s off the back part of the house, and not a bed- 
room in the place but mine and John’s, and the rain 
coming in there in torrents. Such a night ! It’s the 
judgment of the Lord upon us ! That’s what it is — 
the judgment of the Lord!” 

‘‘Judgment of the fiddlesticks!” her husband 
growled. “ Can’t you light the fire, woman What’s 
the good of sitting there whining ” 


THE VANISHED MESSENGER 23 

“ Light the fire,” she repeated bitterly, “ and the 
chimney lying out in the road ! Do you want to suf- 
focate us all, or is the beer still in your head? It’s 
your evil doings, Richard Budden, and others like 
you, that have brought this upon us. If Mr. Wem- 
bley would but come in and pray ! ” 

Her husband scoffed. He was dressed only in his 
shirt and trousers, his hair rough, his braces hanging 
down behind. 

“Come in and pray!” he repeated. “Not he! 
Not Mr. Wembley! He’s safe tucked up in his bed, 
shivering with fear. I’ll bet you. He’s not getting 
his feet wet to save a body or lend a hand here. Souls 
are his job. You let the preacher alone, mother, and 
tell us what we’re going to do with this gentleman.” 

“ The Lord only knows ! ” she cried, wringing her 
hands. 

“ Can I hire a motor-car from anywhere near? ” 
Gerald asked. 

“ There’s motor-cars, right enough,” the innkeeper 
replied, “ but not many as would be fools enough to 
take one out. You couldn’t see the road, and I doubt 
if one of them plaguey things would stir in this 
storm.” 

“ Such nonsense as you talk, Richard Budden ! ” his 
wife exclaimed sharply. “ It’s twenty minutes past 
three of the clock, and there’s light coming on us 
fast. If so be as the young gentleman knows folks 
round about here, or happens to live nigh, why 
shouldn’t he take one of them motor-cars and get 
away to some decent place? It’ll be better for the 
poor gentleman than lying here in a house smitten by 
the Lord.” 


24 THE VANISHED MESSENGER 

Gerald rose stiffly to his feet. An idea was form- 
ing in his brain. His eyes were bright. He looked 
at the body of John Dunster upon the floor, and felt 
once more in his pocket. 

“ How far off is the garage.? ” he asked. 

“ It’s right across the way,” the innkeeper replied, 
“ a speculation of Neighbour Martin’s, and a foolish 
one it do seem to me. He’s two cars there, and one 
he lets to the Government for delivering the 
mails.” 

Gerald felt in his pocket and produced a sover- 
eign. 

“ Give this,” he said, ‘‘ to any man you can And 
who will go across there and bring me a car — the 
most powerful they’ve got, if there’s any difference. 
Tell them I’ll pay well. This — my friend will be 
much better at home with me than in a strange place 
when he comes to his senses.” 

“ It’s sound common sense,” the woman declared. 
“ Be off with you, Richard.” 

The man was looking at the coin covetously, but 
his wife pushed him away. 

“ It’s not a sovereign you’ll be taking from the 
gentleman for a little errand like that,” she insisted 
sharply. “ He shall pay us for what he’s had when 
he goes, and welcome, and if so be that he’s willing 
to make it a sovereign, to include the milk and the 
brandy and the confusion we’ve been put to this night, 
well and good. It’s a heavy reckoning, maybe, but 
the night calls for it. We’ll see about that after- 
wards. Get along with you, I say, Richard.” 

“ I’ll be wet through,” the man muttered. 

“ And serve you right ! ” the woman exclaimed. 


THE VANISHED MESSENGER *5 

If there’s a man in this village to-night whose 
clothes are dry, it’s a thing for him to be ashamed 
of.” 

The innkeeper reluctantly departed. They heard 
the roar of the wind as the door was opened and 
closed. The woman poured out another glass of milk 
and brought it to Gerald. 

“ A godless man, mine,” she said grimly. “ If so 
happen as Mr. Wembley had come to these parts years 
ago, I’d have seen myself in my grave before I’d have 
married a publican. But it’s too late now. We’re 
mostly too late about the things that count in this 
world. So it’s your friend that’s been stricken down, 
young man. A well-living man, I hope ? ” 

Gerald shivered ever so slightly. He drank the 
milk, however. He felt that he might need his 
strength. 

“ What train might you have been on ? ” the woman 
continued. “ There’s none due on this line that we 
knew of. David Bass, the station-master, was here 
but two hours ago and said he’d finished for the night, 
and praised the Lord for that. The goods trains 
had all been stopped at Ipswich, and the first passen- 
ger train was not due till six o’clock.” 

Gerald shook his head with an affectation of weari- 
ness. 

“ I don’t know,” he replied. “ I don’t remember 
anything about it. We were hours late, I think.” 

The woman was looking down at the unconscious 
man. Gerald rose slowly to his feet and stood by her 
side. The face of Mr. John P. Dunster, even in un- 
consciousness, had something in it of strength and 
purpose. The shape of his head, the squareness of 


26 THE VANISHED MESSENGER 

his jaws, the straightness of his thick lips, all seemed 
to speak of a hard and inflexible disposition. His 
hair was coal black, coarse, and without the slightest 
sprinkling of grey. He had the neck and throat of a 
fighter. But for that single, livid, blue mark across 
his forehead, he carried with him no signs of his acci- 
dent. He was a little inclined to be stout. There 
was a heavy gold chain stretched across his waist- 
coat. From where he lay, the shining handle of his 
revolver protruded from his hip pocket. 

“ Sakes alive ! ” the woman muttered, as she looked 
down. What does he carry a thing like that for — 
in a peaceful country, too ! ” 

“ It was just an idea of his,” Gerald answered. 
‘‘ We were going abroad in a day or two. He was al- 
ways nervous. If you like. I’ll take it away.” 

He stooped down and withdrew it from the uncon- 
scious man’s pocket. He started as he discovered that 
it was loaded in every chamber. 

“ I can’t bear the sight of them things,” the woman 
declared. “ It’s the men of evil ways, who’ve no 
trust in the Lord, who need that sort of protec- 
tion.” 

They heard the door pushed open, the howl of wind 
down the passage, and the beating of rain upon 
the stone flags. Then it was softly closed again. 
The landlord staggered into the room, followed by a 
young man. 

‘‘ This ’ere is Mr. Martin’s chaffer,” he announced. 
“ You can tell him what you want yerself.” 

Gerald turned almost eagerly towards the new- 
comer. 

‘‘ I want to go to the other side of Holt,” he said, 


THE VANISHED MESSENGER 27 

“ and get my friend — get this gentleman away from 
here — get him home, if possible. Can you take 
me ? ” 

The chauffeur looked doubtful. 

“ I’m afraid of the roads, sir,” he replied. 
“ There’s talk about many bridges down, and trees, 
and there’s floods out everywhere. There’s half a 
foot of water, even, across the village street now. 
I’m afraid we shouldn’t get very far.” 

“ Look here,” Gerald begged eagerly, “ let’s make 
a shot at it. I’ll pay you double the hire of the car, 
and I’ll be responsible for any damage. I want to 
get out of this beastly place. Let’s get somewhere, 
at any rate, towards a civilised country. I’ll see 
you don’t lose anything. I’ll give you a five pound 
note for yourself if we get as far as Holt.” 

“ I’m on,” the young man agreed shortly. It’s 
an open car, you know.” 

“ It doesn’t matter,” Gerald replied. “ I can 
stick it in front with you, and we can cover — him 
up in the tonneau.” 

‘‘ You’U wait until the doctor comes back.?* ” the 
landlord asked. 

“ And why should they ? ” his wife interposed 
sharply. “ Them doctors are all the same. He’ll 
try and keep the poor gentleman here for the sake 
of a few extra guineas, and a miserable place for 
him to open his eyes upon, even if the rest of the roof 
holds, which for my part I’m beginning to doubt. 
They’d have to move him from here with the day- 
light, anyhow. He can’t lie in the bar parlour all 
day, can he.? ” 

“ It don’t seem right, somehow,” the man com- 


28 THE VANISHED MESSENGER 

plained doggedly. “ The doctor didn’t say anything 
about having him moved.” 

“ You get the car,” Gerald ordered the young man. 
“ I’ll take the whole responsibility.” 

The chauffeur silently left the room. Gerald put 
a couple of sovereigns upon the mantelpiece. 

“ My friend is a man of somewhat peculiar tem- 
perament,” he said quietly. “ If he finds himself at 
home in a comfortable room when he comes to his 
senses, I am quite sure that he will have a better 
chance of recovery. He cannot possibly be made 
comfortable here, and he will feel the shock of what 
has happened all the more if he finds himself still in 
the neighbourhood when he opens his eyes. If there is 
any change in his condition, we can easily stop some- 
where on the way.” 

The woman pocketed the two sovereigns. 

“ That’s common sense, sir,” she agreed heartily, 
“ and I’m sure we are very much obliged to you. If 
we had a decent room, and a roof above it, you’d be 
heartily welcome, but as it is, this is no place for 
a sick man, and those that say different don’t know 
what they are talking about. That’s a real careful 
young man who’s going to take you along in the 
motor-car. He’ll get you there safe, if any one will.” 

‘‘ What I say is,” her husband protested sullenly, 
“that we ought to wait for the doctor’s orders. 
I’m against seeing a poor body like that jolted across 
the country in an open motor-car, in his state. I’m 
not sure that it’s for his good.” 

“ And what business is it of yours, I should like to 
know?” the woman demanded sharply. “You get 
up-stairs and begin moving the furniture from where 


THE VANISHED MESSENGER 29 

the rain’s coming sopping in. And if so be you can 
remember while you do it that this is a judgment 
that’s come upon us, why, so much the better. We 
are evil-doers, all of us, though them as likes the easy 
ways generally manage to forget it.” 

The man retreated silently. The woman sat down 
upon a stool and waited. Gerald sat opposite to her, 
the battered dressing-case upon his knees. Between 
them was stretched the body of the unconscious man. 

“ Are you used to prayer, young sir ? ” the woman 
asked. 

Gerald shook his head, and the woman did not 
pursue the subject. Only once her eyes were half 
closed and her words drifted across the room. 

The Lord have mercy on this man, a sinner ! ” 


CHAPTER IV 


“ My advice to you, sir, is to chuck it ! ” 

Gerald turned towards the chauffeur by whose side 
he was seated a little stiffly, for his limbs were numbed 
with the cold and exhaustion. The morning had 
broken with a grey and uncertain light. A vapor- 
ous veil of mist seemed to have taken the place of the 
darkness. Even from the top of the hill where the 
car had come to a standstill, there was little to be 
seen. 

“We must have come forty miles already,” the 
chauffeur continued, “ what with going out of our 
way all the time because of the broken bridges. 
I’m pretty well frozen through, and as for him,” 
he added, jerking his thumb across his shoulder, “ it 
seems to me you’re taking a bit of a risk.” 

“ The doctor said he would remain in exactly the 
same condition for twenty-four hours,” Gerald de- 
clared. 

“ Yes, but he didn’t say anything about shaking 
him up over forty miles of rough road,” the other 
protested. “ You’ll excuse me, sir,” he continued, 
in a slightly changed tone ; “ it isn’t my business, of 
course, but I’m fairly done. It don’t seem reasonable 
to stick at it like this. There’s Holt village not a 
mile away, and a comfortable inn and a fire waiting. 
I thought that was as far as you wanted to come. 
We might lie up there for a few hours, at any rate.” 


THE VANISHED MESSENGER 31 

His passenger slipped down from his place, and, 
lifting the rug, peered into the tonneau of the car, 
over which they had tied a hood. To all appear- 
ance, the condition of the man who lay there was 
unchanged. There was a slightly added blueness 
about the lips but his breathing was still perceptible. 
It seemed even a little stronger. Gerald resumed his 
seat. 

“ It isn’t worth while to stay at Holt,” he said 
quietly. “ We are scarcely seven miles from home 
now. Sit still for a few minutes and get your 
wind.” 

“ Only seven miles,” the chauffeur repeated more 
cheerfully. “ That’s something, anyway.” 

“ And all downhill.” 

“ Towards the sea, then ? ” 

“ Straight to the sea,” Gerald told him. “ The 
place we are making for is St. David’s Hall, near 
Salthouse.” 

The chauffeur seemed a little startled. 

“ Why, that’s Squire Fentolin’s house ! ” 

Gerald nodded. 

“ That is where we are going. You follow this 
road almost straight ahead.” 

The chauffeur slipped in the clutch. 

“ Oh, I know the way now, sir, right enough ! ” 
he exclaimed. “ There’s Salthouse marsh to cross, 
though. I don’t know about that.” 

We shall manage that all right,” Gerald de- 
clared. “ We’ve more light now, too.” 

They both looked around. During the last few 
minutes the late morning seemed to have forced its 
way through the clouds. They had a dim, phan- 


32 THE VANISHED MESSENGER 

tasmagoric view of the stricken country: a watery 
plain, with here and there great patches of fields, 
submerged to the hedges, and houses standing out 
amidst the waste of waters like toy dwellings. There 
were whole plantations of uprooted trees. Close to 
the road, on their left, was a roofless house, and a 
family of children crying underneath a tarpaulin 
shelter. As they crept on, the wind came to them 
with a brackish flavour, salt with the sea. The chauf- 
feur was gazing ahead doubtfully. 

“ I don’t like the look of the marsh,” he grumbled. 
“ Can’t see the road at all. However, here goes.” 

“ Another half-hour,” Gerald assured him encour- 
agingly, “ and we shall be at St. David’s Hall. You 
can have as much rest as you like then.” 

They were facing the wind now, and conversation 
became impossible. Twice they had to pull up sharp 
and make a considerable detour, once on account of 
a fallen tree which blocked the road, and another 
time because of the yawning gap where a bridge had 
fallen away. Gerald, however, knew every inch of 
the country they were in and was able to give the 
necessary directions. They began to meet farm wag- 
ons now, full of people who had been driven from their 
homes. Warnings and information as to the state of 
the roads were shouted to them continually. Pres- 
ently they came to the last steep descent, and emerged 
from the devastated fragment of a wood almost on to 
the sea level. The chauffeur clapped on his brakes 
and stopped short. 

“ My God ! ” he exclaimed. “ Here’s more 
trouble ! ” 

Gerald for a moment was speechless. They seemed 


THE VANISHED MESSENGER 33 

to have come suddenly upon a huge plain of waters, 
an immense lake reaching as far as they could see 
on either side. The road before them stretched like 
a ribbon for the next three miles. Here and there 
it disappeared and reappeared again. In many places 
it was lapped by little waves. Everywhere the 
hedges were either altogether or half under water. In 
the distance was one farmhouse, only the roof of 
which was visible, and from which the inhabitants 
were clambering into a boat. And beyond, with 
scarcely a break save for the rising of one strangely- 
shaped hill, was the sea. Gerald pointed with his 
finger. 

“ There’s St. David’s Hall,” he said, “ on the other 
side of the hill. The road seems all right.” 

“ Does it ! ” the chauffeur grunted. “ It’s under 
water more than half the way, and Heaven knows how 
deep it is at the sides! I’m not going to risk my 
life along there. I am going to take the car back 
to Holt.” 

His hand was already upon the reverse lever, but 
Gerald gripped it. 

“ Look here,” he protested, “ we haven’t come all 
this wav to turn back. You don’t look like a cow- 
ard.” 

“ I ajn not a coward, sir,” was the quiet answer. 
“ Neither am I a fool. I don’t see any use in risking 
our lives and my master’s motor-car, because you 
want to get home.” 

“ Naturally,” Gerald answered calmly, “ but re- 
member this. I am responsible for your car — not 
you. Mr. Fentolin is my uncle.” 

The chauffeur nodded shortly. 


34 THE VANISHED MESSENGER 

‘‘You’re Mr. Gerald Fentolin, aren’t you, sir?” 
he remarked. “ I thought I recognised you.” 

“ I am,” Gerald admitted. “ We’ve had a rough 
journey, but it doesn’t seem sense to turn back now, 
does it, with the house in sight? ” 

“ That’s all very well, sir,” the chauffeur objected 
doubtfully, “ but I don’t believe the road’s even pass- 
able, and the floods seem to me to be rising.” 

“ Try it,” the young man begged. “ Look here, 
I don’t want to bribe you, or anything of that sort. 
You know you’re coming out of this well. It’s a 
serious matter for me, and I shan’t be likely to forget 
it. I want to take this gentleman to St. David’s 
Hall and not to a hospital. You’ve brought me here 
so far like a man. Let’s go through with it. If the 
worst comes to the worst, we can both swim, I sup- 
pose, and we are not likely to get out of our depth.” 

The chauffeur moved his head backwards. 

“ How about him? ” 

“ He must take his chance,” Gerald replied. 
“ He’s all right where he is. The car won’t upset 
and there are plenty of people who’ll see if we get 
into trouble. Come, let’s make a dash for it.” 

The chauffeur thrust in his clutch and settled him- 
self down. They glided off along that winding 
stretch of road. To its very edge, on either side of 
them, so close that they could almost touch it, came 
the water, water which stretched as far as they could 
see, swaying, waveless, sinister-looking. Even Ger- 
ald, after his first impulse of wonder, kept his eyes 
averted and fixed upon the road ahead. Soon they 
reached a place where the water met in |ront. There 
were only the rows of white palings on either side to 


THE VANISHED MESSENGER 35 

guide them. The chauffeur muttered to himself as 
he changed to his first speed. 

“ If the engine gets stopped,” he said, “ I don’t 
know how we shall get out of this.” 

They emerged on the other side. For some time 
they had a clear run. Then suddenly the driver 
clapped on his brakes. 

‘‘My God!” he cried. “We can’t get through 
that!” 

In front of them for more than a hundred yards 
the water seemed suddenly to have flowed across the 
road. Still a mile distant, perched on a ridge of that 
strangely-placed hill, was their destination. 

“ It can’t be done, sir ! ” the man groaned. 
“ There isn’t a car ever built could get through that. 
See, it’s nearly up to the top of those posts. I must 
put her in the reverse and get back, even if we have 
to wait on the higher part of the road for a boat.” 

He glanced behind, and a second cry broke from 
his lips. Gerald stood up in his place. Already the 
road which had been clear a few minutes before was 
hidden. The water was washing almost over the tops 
of the white posts behind them. Little waves were 
breaking against the summit of the raised bank. 

“ We’re cut off ! ” the chauffeur exclaimed. 
“ What a fool I was to try this ! There’s the tide 
coming in as well ! ” 

Gerald sat down in his place. 

“ Look here,” he said, “ we can’t go back, whether 
we want to or not. It’s much worse behind there 
than it is in front. There’s only one chance. Go 
for it straight ahead in your first speed. It may not 
stop the engine. In any case, it will be worse pres- 


36 THE VANISHED MESSENGER 

ently. There’s no use funking it. If the worst hap- 
pens, we can sit in the car. The water won’t be 
above our heads and there are some boats about. 
Blow your horn well first, in case there’s any one 
within hearing, and then go for it.” 

The chauffeur obeyed. They hissed and splut- 
tered into the water. Soon all trace of the road was 
completely lost. They steered only by the tops of 
the white posts. 

‘‘ It’s getting deeper,” the man declared. It’s 
within an inch or two of the bonnet now. Hold on.” 

A wave broke almost over them but the engine con- 
tinued its beat. 

“ If we stop now,” he gasped, “ we’re done ! ” 

The engine began to knock. 

“ Stick at it,” Gerald cried, rising in his place a 
little. “ Look, there’s only one post lower than the 
last one that we passed. They get higher all the 
time, ahead. You can almost see the road in front 
there. Now, in with your gear again, and slick at 
it.” 

Another wave broke, this time completely over them. 
They listened with strained ears — the engine con- 
tinued to beat. They still moved slowly. Then there 
was a shock. The wheel had struck something in the 
road — a great stone or rock. The chauffeur thrust 
the car out of gear. The engine still beat. Gerald 
leaped from the car. The water was over his knees. 
He crossed in front of the bonnet and stooped down. 

“ I’ve got it 1 ” he exclaimed, tugging hard. “ It’s 
a stone.” 

He moved it, rolled it on one side, and pushed at 
the wheel of the car as his companion put in the 


THE VANISHED MESSENGER 37 

first speed. They started again. He jumped back 
into his place. 

« We’ve done it, all right ! ” he cried. “ Don’t you 
see.'^ It’s getting lower all the time.” 

The chauffeur had lost his nerve. His cheeks were 
pale, his teeth were chattering. The engine, however, 
was still beating. Gradually the pressure of the 
water grew less. In front of them they caught a 
glimpse of the road. They drew up at the top of a 
little bridge over one of the dikes. Gerald uttered 
a brief exclamation of triumph. 

« We’re safe ! ” he almost sobbed. “ There’s the 
road, straight ahead and round to the right. There’s 
no more water anywhere near.” 

They had left the main part of the flood behind 
them. There were still great pools in the side of the 
road, and huge masses of seaweed had been carried 
up and were lying in their track. There was no more 
water, however. At every moment they drew nearer 
to the strangely-shaped hill with its crown of trees. 

‘‘ The house is on the other side,” Gerald pointed 
out. “We can go through the lodge gates at the 
back here. The ascent isn’t so steep.” 

They turned sharply to the right, along another 
stretch of straight road set with white posts, ending 
before a red brick lodge and a closed gate. They 
blew the horn and a gardener came out. He gazed 
at them in amazement. 

“ It’s all right,” Gerald cried. “ Let us through 
quickly, Foulds. We’ve a gentleman in behind who’s 
ill.” 

The man swung open the gate with a respectful 
salute. They made their way up a winding drive 


38 THE VANISHED MESSENGER 

of considerable length, and at last they came to a 
broad, open space almost like a platform. On their 
left were the marshes, and beyond, the sea. Along 
their right stretched the long front of an Elizabethan 
mansion. They drew up in front of the hall door. 
Their coming had been observed, and servants were 
already waiting. Gerald sprang to the ground. 

‘‘ There’s a gentleman in behind who’s ill,” he ex- 
plained to the butler. He has met with an accident 
on the way. Three or four of you had better carry 
him up to a bedroom — any one that is ready. And 
you, George,” he added, turning to a boy, “ get into 
the car and show this man the way round to the ga- 
rage, and then take him to the servants’ hall.” 

Several of the servants hastened to do his bidding, 
and Gerald did his best to answer the eager but re- 
spectful stream of questions. And then, just as they 
were in the act of lifting the still unconscious man on 
to the floor of the hall, came a queer sound — a shrill, 
reverberating whistle. They all looked up the stairs. 

“ The master is awake,” Henderson, the butler, re- 
marked, dropping his voice a little. 

Gerald nodded. 

‘‘ I will go to him at once,” he said. 


CHAPTER V 


Accustomed though he was to the sight which he 
was about to face, Gerald shivered slightly as he 
opened the door of Mr. Fentolin’s room. A strange 
sort of fear seemed to have crept into his bearing and 
expression, a fear of which there had been no traces 
whatever during those terrible hours through which 
he had passed — not even during that last reckless 
journey across the marshes. He walked with hesitat- 
ing footsteps across the spacious and lofty room. 
He had the air of some frightened creature approach- 
ing his master. Yet all that was visible of the despot 
who ruled his whole household in deadly fear was the 
kindly and beautiful face of an elderly man, whose 
stunted limbs and body were mercifully concealed. 
He sat in a little carriage, with a rug drawn closely 
across his chest and up to his armpits. His beauti- 
fully shaped hands were exposed, and his face ; noth- 
ing else. His hair was a silvery white; his complex- 
ion parchment-like, pallid, entirely colourless. His 
eyes were a soft shade of blue. His features were so 
finely cut and chiselled that they resembled some ex- 
quisite piece of statuary. He smiled as his nephew 
came slowly towards him. One might almost have 
fancied that the young man’s abject state was a source 
of pleasure to him. 

“ So you are back again, my dear Gerald. A 


40 THE VANISHED MESSENGER 

pleasant surprise, indeed, but what is the meaning of 
it? And what of my little commission, eh? ’’ 

The young man’s face was dark and sullen. He 
spoke quickly but without any sign of eagerness or 
interest in the information he vouchsafed. 

“ The storm has stopped all the trains,” he said. 
“ The boat did not cross last night, and in any case 
I couldn’t have reached Harwich. As for your com- 
mission, I travelled down from London alone with the 
man you told me to spy upon. I could have stolen 
anything he had if I had been used to the work. As 
it was — I brought the man himself.” 

Mr. Fentolin’s delicate fingers played with the han- 
dle of his chair. The smile had passed from his 
lips. He looked at his nephew in gentle bewilder- 
ment. 

“ My dear boy,” he protested, “ come, come, be 
careful what you are saying. You have brought the 
man himself! So far as my information goes, Mr. 
John P. Dunster is charged with a very important 
diplomatic commission. He is on his way to Cologne, 
and from what I know about the man, I think that it 
would require more than your persuasions to induce 
him to break off his journey. You do not really wish 
me to believe that you have brought him here as a 
guest ? ” 

“ I was at Liverpool Street Station last night,” 
Gerald declared. ‘‘ I had no idea how to accost him, 
and as to stealing any of his belongings, I couldn’t 
have done it. You must hear how fortune helped me, 
though. Mr. Dunster missed the train ; so did I — 
purposely. He ordered a special. I asked permis- 
sion to travel with him. I told him a lie as to how 


THE VANISHED MESSENGER 41 

I had missed the train. I hated it, but it was neces- 
sary.” 

Mr. Fentolin nodded approvingly. 

“ My dear boy,” he said, ‘‘ to trifle with the truth 
is always unpleasant. Besides, you are a Fentolin, 
and our love of truth is proverbial. But there are 
times, you know, when for the good of others we must 
sacrifice our scruples. So you told Mr. Dunster a 
falsehood.” 

“ He let me travel with him,” Gerald continued. 
“We were all night getting about half-way here. 
Then — you know about the storm, I suppose ? ” 

Mr. Fentolin spread out his hands. 

“ Could one avoid the knowledge of it.^^ ” he asked. 
“ Such a sight has never been seen.” ^ 

“ We found we couldn’t get to Harwich,” Gerald 
went on. “ They telegraphed to London and got 
permission to bring us to Yarmouth. We were on 
our way to Norwich, and the train ran oflP the line.” 

“ An accident ” Mr. Fentolin exclaimed. 

Gerald nodded. 

“ Our train ran off the line and pitched down an 
embankment. Mr. Dunster has concussion of the 
brain. He and I were taken to a miserable little inn 
near Wymondham. From there I hired a motor-car 
and brought him here.” 

“ You hired a motor-car and brought him here,” 
Mr. Fentolin repeated softly. “ My dear boy — for- 
give me if I find this a little hard to understand. 
You say that you have brought him here. Had he 
nothing to say about it.? ” 

“ He was unconscious when we picked him up,” 
Gerald explained. “ He is unconscious now. The 


42 THE VANISHED MESSENGER 

doctor said he would remain so for at least twenty- 
four hours, and it didn’t seem to me that the journey 
would do him any particular harm. The roof had 
been stripped off the inn where we were, and the place 
was quite uninhabitable, so we should have had to 
have moved him somewhere. We put him in the ton- 
neau of the car and covered him up. They have 
carried him now into a bedroom, and Sarson is look- 
ing after him.” 

Mr. Fentolin sat quite silent. His eyes blinked 
once or twice, and there was a curious curve about 
his lips. 

“ You have done well, my boy,” he pronounced 
slowly. “ Your scheme of bringing him here sounds 
a little primitive, but success justifies everything.” 

Mr. Fentolin raised to his lips and blew softly a 
little gold whistle which hung from a chain attached 
to his waistcoat. Almost immediately th( door 
opened. A man entered, dressed somberly in black, 
whose bearing and demeanour alike denoted the serv- 
ant, but whose physique was the physique of a prize- 
fighter. He was scarcely more than five feet six in 
height, but his shoulders were extraordinarily broad. 
He had a short, bull neck and long, mighty arms. 
His face, with the heavy jaw and small eyes, was the 
face of the typical fighting man, yet his features 
seemed to have become disposed by habit into an ex- 
pression of gentle, almost servile civility. 

‘‘ Meekins,” Mr. Fentolin said, “ a visitor has ar- 
rived. Do you happen to have noticed what luffgaffe 
he brought.? ” 

“ There is one small dressing-case, sir,” the man re- 
plied ; “ nothing else that I have seen.” 


THE VANISHED MESSENGER 43 

‘‘ That is all we brought,” Gerald interposed. 

“ You will bring the dressing-case here at once,” 
Mr. Fentolin directed, ‘‘and also my compliments to 
Doctor Sarson, and any pocket-book or papers which 
may help us to send a message to the gentleman’s 
friends.” 

Meekins closed the door and departed. Mr. Fen- 
tolin turned back towards his nephew. 

“ My dear boy,” he said, “ tell me why you look 
as though there were ghosts flitting about the room.^ 
You are not ill, I trust? ” 

“ Tired, perhaps,” Gerald answered shortly. “ We 
were many hours in the car. I have had no sleep.” 

Mr. Fentolin’s face was full of kindly sympathy. 

“ My dear fellow,” he exclaimed, “ I am selfish, in- 
deed ! I should not have kept you here for a moment. 
You had better go and lie down.” 

“• ^1 go directly,” Grerald promised. “ Can I 
speat to you for one moment first? ” 

“ Speak to me? ” Mr. Fentolin repeated, a little 
wonderingly. “ My dear Gerald, is there ever a mo- 
ment when I am not wholly at your service? ” 

“ That fellow Dunster, on the platform, the first 
moment I spoke to him, made me feel like a cur,” the 
boy said, with a sudden access of vigour in his tone. 
“ I told him I was on my way to a golf tournament, 
and he pointed to the news about the war. Is it true, 
uncle, that we may be at war at any moment? ” 

Mr. Fentolin sighed. 

“ A terrible reflection, my dear boy,” he admitted 
softly, “ but, alas ! the finger of probability points 
that way.” 

“Then what about me?” Gerald exclaimed. “I 


44 THE VANISHED MESSENGER 

don’t want to complain, but listen. You dragged me 
home from a public school before I could even join 
my cadet corps. You’ve kept me hanging around 
here with a tutor. You wouldn’t let me go to the 
university. You’ve stopped my entering either of the 
services. I am nineteen years old and useless. Do 
you know what I should do to-morrow if war broke 
out.f^ Enlist! It’s the only thing left for me.” 

Mr. Fentolin was shocked. 

‘‘ My dear boy ! ” he exclaimed. “ You must not 
talk like that! I am quite sure that it would break 
your mother’s heart. Enlist, indeed! Nothing of 
the sort. You are part of the civilian population of 
the country.” 

“ Civilian population be d — d ! ” the boy suddenly 
cried, white with rage. “ Uncle, forgive me, I have 
stood all I can bear. If you won’t let me go in for 
the army — I could pass my exams to-morrow — I’m 
off. I’ll enlist without waiting for the war. I can’t 
bear this idle life any longer.” 

Mr. Fentolin leaned a little forward in his chair. 

“ Gerald ! ” he said softly. 

The boy turned his head, turned it unwillingly. 
He had the air of a caged animal obeying the word of 
his keeper. A certain savage uncoutlmess seemed to 
have fallen upon him during the last few minutes. 
‘There was something almost like a snarl in his ex- 
pression. 

“ Gerald ! ” Mr. Fentolin repeated. 

Then it was obvious that there was something be- 
tween those two, some memory or some living thing, 
seldom, if ever, to be spoken of, and yet always 
present. The boy began to tremble. 


THE VANISHED MESSENGER 45 

“ You’re a little overwrought, Gerald,” Mr. Fen- 
tolin declared. “ Sit quietly in my easy-chair for a 
few moments. Wait until I have examined Mr. Dun- 
ster’s belongings. Ah ! Meekins has been prompt, in- 
deed.” 

There was a stealthy tap at the door. Meekins 
entered with the small dressing-case in his hand. He 
brought it over to his master’s chair. Mr. Fentolin 
pointed to the floor. 

“ Open it there, Meekins,” he directed. “ I fancy 
that the pocket-book you are carrying will prove more 
interesting. We will just glance through the dres- 
sing-case first. Thank you. Yes, you can lay the 
things upon the floor. A man of Spartan-like life, 
I should imagine Mr. Dunster. A spare toothbrush, 
though, I am glad to see. Pyjamas of most unat- 
tractive pattern. And what a taste in shirts ! 
Nothing but wearing apparel and singularly little of 
that, I fancy.” 

The dressing-case was empty, its contents upon the 
floor. Mr. Fentolin held out his hand and took the 
pocket-book which Meekins had been carrying. It 
was an ordinary morocco affair, similar to those is- 
sued by American banking houses to enclose letters of 
credit. One side of it was filled with notes. Mr. 
Fentolin withdrew them and glanced them through. 

“Dear me!” he murmured. “No wonder our 
friend engages special trains! He travels like a 
prince, indeed. Two thousand pounds, or near it, 
in this little compartment. And here, I see, a letter, 
a sealed letter with no address.” 

He held it out in front of him. It was a long 
commercial envelope of ordinary type, and although 


46 THE VANISHED MESSENGER 

the flap was secured with a blob of sealing wax, there 
was no particular impression upon it. 

“ We can match this envelope, I think,” Mr. Fen- 
tolin said softly. “ The seal we can copy. I think 
that, for the sake of others, we must discover the 
cause for this hurried journey on the part of Mr. 
John P. Dunster.” 

With his long, delicate forefinger Mr. Fentolin slit 
the envelope and withdrew the single sheet of paper 
which it contained. There were a dozen lines of writ- 
ten matter, and what appeared to be a dozen signa- 
tures appended. Mr. Fentolin read it, at first with 
ordinary interest. Then a change came. The look 
of a man drawn out of himself, drawn out of all 
knowledge of his surroundings or his present state, 
stole into his face. Literally he became transfixed. 
The delicate fingers of his left hand gripped the sides 
of his little carriage. His eyes shone as though 
those few written lines upon which they were riveted 
were indeed some message from an unknown, an un- 
imagined world. Yet no word ever passed his lips. 
There came a time when the tension seemed a little 
relaxed. With fingers which still trembled, he folded 
up the sheet and replaced it in the envelope. He 
guarded it with both his hands and sat quite still. 
Neither Gerald nor his servant moved. Somehow, 
the sense of Mr. Fentolin’s suppressed excitement 
seemed to have become communicated to them. It 
was a little tableau, broken at last by Mr. Fentolin 
himself. 

“ I should like,” he said, turning to Gerald, “ to 
be alone. It may interest you to know that this docu- 
ment which Mr. Dunster has brought across the seas, 


THE VANISHED MESSENGER 47 

and which I hold in my hands, is the most amazing 
message of modem times.” 

Gerald rose to his feet. 

“ What are you going to do about it? ” he asked 
abruptly. ‘‘ Do you want any one in from the tele- 
graph room ? ” 

Mr. Fentolin shook his head slowly. 

“ At present,” he announced, I am going to re- 
flect. Meekins, my chair to the north window — so. 
I am going to sit here,” he went on, ‘‘ and I am going 
to look across the sea and reflect. A very fortunate 
storm, after all, I think, which kept Mr. John P. 
Dunster from the Harwich boat last night! Leave 
me, Gerald, for a time. Stand behind my chair, 
Meekins, and see that no one enters.” 

Mr. Fentolin sat in his chair, his hands still grip- 
ping the wonderful document, his eyes travelling over 
the ocean now flecked with sunlight. His eyes were 
fixed upon the horizon. He looked steadily east- 
ward. 


CHAPTER VI 


Mr. John P. Duns ter opened his eyes upon strange 
surroundings. He found himself lying upon a bed 
deliciously soft, with lace-edged sheets and lavender- 
perfumed bed hangings. Through the discreetly 
opened upper window came a pleasant and ozone- 
laden breeze. The furniture in the room was mostly 
of an old-fashioned type, some of it of oak, curiously 
carved, and most of it surmounted with a coat of 
arms. The apartment was lofty and of almost 
palatial proportions. The whole atmosphere of the 
place breathed comfort and refinement. The only 
thing of which he did not wholly approve was the face 
of the nurse who rose silently to her feet at his mur- 
mured question : 

“ .Where am I.? ” 

She felt his forehead, altered a bandage for a mo- 
ment, and took his wrist between her fingers. 

“ You have been ill,” she said. “ There was a rail- 
way accident. You are to lie quite still and not say 
a word. I am going to fetch the doctor now. He 
wished to see you directly you spoke.” 

Mr. Dunster dozed again for several moments. 
When he reopened his eyes, a man was standing by 
his bedside, a short man with a black beard and gold- 
rimmed glasses. Mr. Dunster, in this first stage of 
his convalescence, was perhaps difficult to please, for 
he did not like the look of the doctor, either. 


THE VANISHED MESSENGER 49 

“ Please tell me where I am? ” he begged. 

“ You have been in a railway accident,” the doctor 
told him, “ and you were brought here afterwards.” 

“ In a railway accident,” Mr. Dunster repeated. 
“ Ah, yes, I remember ! I took a special to Harwich 
— I remember now. Where is my dressing-bag ? ” 

“ It is here by the side of your bed.” 

“ And my pocket-book ? ” 

“ It is on your dressing-table.” 

Have any of my things been looked at? ” 

‘‘ Only so far as was necessary to discover your 
identity,” the doctor assured him. “ Don’t talk too 
much. The nurse is bringing you some beef tea.” 

“ When,” Mr. Dunster enquired, “ shall I be able to 
continue my journey? ” 

That depends upon many things,” the doctor 
replied. 

Mr. Dunster drank his beef tea and felt consider- 
ably stronger. His head still ached, but his memory 
was returning. 

“ There was a young man in the carriage with me,” 
he asked presently. “ Mr. Gerald something or other 
I think he said his name was ? ” 

“ Fentolin,” the doctor said. “ He is unhurt. 
This is his relative’s house to which you have been 
brought.” 

Mr. Dunster lay for a time with knitted brows. 
Once more the name of Fentolin seemed somehow 
familiar to him, seemed somehow to bring with it 
to his memory a note of warning. He looked around 
the room fretfully. He looked into the nurse’s face, 
which he disliked exceedingly, and he looked at the 
doctor, whom he was beginning to detest, 


50 THE VANISHED MESSENGER 

‘‘ Whose house exactly is this ? ” he demanded. 

“ This is St. David’s Hall — the home of Mr. Miles 
Fentolin,” the doctor told him. “ The young gentle- 
man with whom you were travelling is his nephew.” 

“ Can I send a telegram.?^” Mr. Dunster asked, a 
little abruptly. 

“ Without a doubt,” the doctor replied. “ Mr. 
Fentolin desired me to ask you if there was any one 
whom you would like to apprise of your safety.” 

Again the man upon the bed lay quite still, with 
knitted brows. There was surely something familiar 
about that name. Was it his fevered fancy or was 
there also something a little sinister 

The nurse, who had glided from the room, came 
back presently with some telegraph forms. Mr. 
Dunster held out his hand for them and then hesi- 
tated. 

“ Can you tell me any date. Doctor, upon which I 
can rely upon leaving here? ” 

“ You will probably be well enough to travel on the 
third day from now,” the doctor assured him. 

‘‘ The third day,” Mr. Dunster muttered. “ Very 
well.” 

He wrote out three telegrams and passed them 
over. 

“ One,” he said, “ is to New York, one to The 
Hague, and one to London. There was plenty of 
money in my pocket. Perhaps you will find it and 
pay for these.” 

“ Is there anything more,” the doctor asked, “ that 
can be done for your comfort ? ” 

“ Nothing at present,” Mr. Dunster replied. 
“ My head aches now, but I think that I shall want 


THE VANISHED MESSENGER 51 

to leave before three days are up. Are you the doc- 
tor in the neighbourhood ” 

Sarson shook his head. 

“ I am physician to Mr. Fentolin’s household,” he 
answered quietly. “ I live here. Mr. Fentolin is 
himself somewhat of an invalid and requires constant 
medical attention.” 

Mr. Dunster contemplated the speaker steadfastly. 

“ You will forgive me,” ha said. “ I am an Amer- 
ican and I am used to plain speech. I am quite un- 
used to being attended by strange doctors. I under- 
stand that you are not in general practice now. 
Might I ask if you are fully qualified ? ” 

“ I am an M.D. of London,” the doctor replied. 
“ You can make yourself quite easy as to my quali- 
fications. It would not suit Mr. Fentolin’s purpose 
to entrust himself to the care of any one without a 
reputation.” 

He left the room, and Mr. Dunster closed his eyes. 
His slumbers, however, were not altogether peaceful 
ones. All the time there seemed to be a hammering 
inside his head, and from somewhere back in his ob- 
scured memory the name of Fentolin seemed to be 
continually asserting itself. From somewhere or 
other, the amazing sense which sometimes gives warn- 
ing of danger to men of adventure, seemed to have 
opened its feelers. He rested because he was ex- 
hausted, but even in his sleep he was ill at ease. 

The doctor, with the telegrams in his hand, made 
his way down a splendid staircase, past the long pic- 
ture gallery where masterpieces of Van Dyck and 
Rubens frowned and leered down upon him ; descended 
the final stretch of broad oak stairs, crossed the hall, 


52 THE VANISHED MESSENGER 

and entered his master’s rooms. Mr. Fentolin was 
sitting before the open window, an easel in front of 
him, a palette in his left hand, painting with deft, 
swift touches. 

“ Ah ! ” he exclaimed, without looking around, “ it 
is my friend the doctor, my friend Sarson, M.D. of 
London, L.R.C.P. and all the rest of it. He brings 
with him the odour of the sick room. For a moment 
or two, just for a moment, dear friend, do not disturb 
me. Do not bring any alien thoughts into my brain. 
I am absorbed, you see — absorbed. It is a strange 
problem of colour, this.” 

He was silent for several moments, glancing repeat- 
edly out of the window and back to his canvas, paint- 
ing all the time with swift and delicate precision. 

“ Meekins, who stands behind my chair,” Mr. 
Fentolin continued, ‘‘ even Meekins is entranced. He 
has a soul, my friend Sarson, although you might not 
think it. He, too, sees sometimes the colour in the 
skies, the glitter upon the sands, the clear, sweet 
purity of those long stretches of virgin water. 
Meekins, I believe, has a soul, only he likes better to 
see these things grow under his master’s touch than 
to wander about and solve their riddles for himself.” 

The man remained perfectly immovable. Not a 
feature twitched. Yet it was a fact that, although he 
stood where Mr. Fentolin could not possibly observe 
him, he never removed his gaze from the canvas. 

“ You see, my medical friend, that there has been 
a great tide in the night, following upon the flood? 
Even our small landmarks are shifted. Soon, in my 
little carriage, I shall ride down to the Tower. I shall 
sit there, and I shall watch the sea. I think that this 


THE VANISHED MESSENGER 53 

evening, with the turn of the tide, the spray may 
reach even to my windows there. I shall paint again. 
There is always something fresh in the sea, you know 
— always something fresh in the sea. Like a human 
face — angry or pleased, sullen or joyful. Some 
people like to paint the sea at its calmest and most 
beautiful. Some people like to see happy faces 
around them. It is not every one who appreciates 
the other things. It is not quite like that with me, 
eh, Sarson ? ” 

His hand fell to his side. Momentarily he had fin- 
ished his work. He turned around and eyed the doc- 
tor, who stood in taciturn silence. 

“ Answer. Answer me,” he insisted. 

The doctor’s gloomy face seemed darker still. 

‘‘ You have spoken the truth, Mr. Fentolin,” he ad- 
mitted. “ You are not one of the vulgar herd who 
love to consort with pleasure and happiness. You are 
one of those who understand the beauty of unhappi- 
ness — in others,” he added, with faint emphasis. 

Mr. Fentolin smiled. His face became almost like 
the face of one of those angels of the great Italian 
master. 

“ How well you know me ! ” he murmured. My 
humble effort. Doctor — how do you like it.?^” 

The doctor bent over the canvas. 

“ I know nothing about art,” he said, a little 
roughly. “ Your work seems to me clever — a little 
grotesque, perhaps ; a little straining after the hard, 
plain things which threaten. Nothing of the idealist 
in your work, Mr. Fentolin.” 

Mr. Fentolin studied the canvas himself for a mo- 
ment. 


54 THE VANISHED MESSENGER 

“ A clever man, Sarson,” he remarked coolly, “ but 
no courtier. Never mind, my work pleases me. It 
gives me a passing sensation of happiness. Now, 
what about our patient? ” 

“ He recovers,” the doctor pronounced. ‘‘ From 
my short examination, I should say that he had the 
constitution of an ox. I have told him that he will be 
up in three days. As a matter of fact, he will be able, 
if he wants to, to walk out of the house to-morrow.” 

Mr. Fentolin shook his head. 

“We cannot spare him quite so soon,” he declared. 
“ We must avail ourselves of this wonderful chance 
afforded us by my brilliant young nephew. We must 
keep him with us for a little time. What is it that you 
have in your hands. Doctor? Telegrams, I think. 
Let me look at them.” 

The doctor held them out. Mr. Fentolin took them 
eagerly between his thin, delicate fingers. Suddenly 
his face darkened, and became like the face of a spoilt 
and angry child. 

“ Cipher ! ” he exclaimed furiously. “ A cipher 
which he knows so well as to remember it, too ! Never 
mind, it will be easy to decode. It will amuse me dur- 
ing the afternoon. Very good, Sarson. I will take 
charge of these.” 

“ You do not wish anything dispatched? ” 

“ Nothing at present,” Mr. Fentolin sighed. “ It 
will be well, I think, for the poor man to remain un- 
disturbed by any communications from his friends. 
Is he restless at all? ” 

“ He wants to get on with his journey.” 

“We shall see,” Mr. Fentolin remarked. “ Now 
feel my pulse, Sarson. How am I this morning? ” 


THE VANISHED MESSENGER 55 

The doctor held the thin wrist for a moment between 
his fingers, and let it go. 

“ In perfect health, as usual,” he announced 
grimly. 

“ Ah, but you cannot be sure ! ” Mr. Fentolin pro- 
tested. “ My tongue, if you please.” 

He put it out. 

“ Excellent ! ” 

“We must make quite certain,” Mr. Fentolin con- 
tinued. “ There are so many people who would miss 
me. My place in the world would not be easily filled. 
Undo my waistcoat, Sarson. Feel my heart, please. 
Feel carefully. I can see the end of your stethoscope 
in your pocket. Don’t scamp it. I fancied this 
morning, when I was lying here alone, that there was 
something almost like a palpitation — a quicker beat. 
Be very careful, Sarson. Now.” 

The doctor made his examination with impassive 
face. Then he stepped back. 

“ There is no change in your condition, Mr. Fento- 
lin,” he announced. “ The palpitation you spoke of 
is a mistake. You are in perfect health.” 

Mr. Fentolin sighed gently. 

“ Then,” he said, “ I will now amuse myself by a 
gentle ride down to the Tower. You are entirely sat- 
isfied, Sarson. You are keeping nothing back from 
me ? ” 

The doctor looked at him with grim, impassive 
face. 

“ There is nothing to keep back,” he declared. 
“ You have the constitution of a cowboy. There is 
no reason why you should not live for another thirty 
years.” 


56 THE VANISHED MESSENGER 

Mr. Fentolin sighed, as though a weight had been 
removed from his heart. 

“ I will now,” he decided, reaching forward for the 
handle of his carriage, “ go down to the Tower. It 
is just possible that a few days’ seclusion might be 
good for our guest.” 

The doctor turned silently away. There was no 
one there to see his expression as he walked towards 
the door. 


CHAPTER VH 


The two men who were supping together in the 
grillroom at the Cafe Milan were talking with a se- 
riousness which seemed a little out of keeping with the 
rose-shaded lamps and the swaying music of the band 
from the distant restaurant. Their conversation had 
started some hours before in the club smoking-room 
and had continued intermittently throughout the even- 
ing. It had received a further stimulus when Richard 
Hamel, who had bought an Evening Standard on their 
way from the theatre a few minutes ago, came across 
a certain paragraph in it which he read aloud. 

“ Hanged if I understand things over here, nowa- 
days, Reggie ! ” he declared, laying the paper down. 
“ Here’s another Englishman imprisoned in Germany 
— this time at a place no one ever heard of before^ 
I won’t try to pronounce it. What does it all mean.?^ 
It’s all very well to shrug your shoulders, but when 
there are eighteen arrests within one week on a 
charge of espionage, there must be something up.” 

For the first time Reginald Kinsley seemed inclined 
to discuss the subject seriously. He drew the paper 
towards him and read the little paragraph, word by 
word. Then he gave some further order to an at- 
tentive maitre d'hotel and glanced around to be sure 
that they were not overheard. 

‘‘ Look here, Dick, old chap,” he said, “ you are just 
back from abroad and you are not quite in the hang 


58 THE VANISHED MESSENGER 

of things yet. Let me ask you a plain question. 
What do you think of us all.^ ” 

“ Think of you.^ ” Hamel repeated, a little doubt- 
fully. “ Do you mean personally ? ” 

“ Take it any way you like,” Kinsley replied. 
“ Look at me. Nine years ago we played cricket in 
the same eleven. I don’t look much like cricket now, 
do I.?” 

Hamel looked at his companion thoughtfully. For 
a man who was doubtless still young, Kinsley had cer- 
tainly an aged appearance. The hair about his tem- 
ples was grey; there were lines about his mouth and 
forehead. He had the air of one who lived in an at- 
mosphere of anxiety. 

“ To me,” Hamel declared frankly, ‘‘ you look 
worried. If I hadn’t heard so much of the success of 
your political career and all the rest of it, I should 
have thought that things were going badly with you.” 

“ They’ve gone well enough with me personally,” 
Kinsley admitted, “ but I’m only one of many. Pol- 
itics isn’t the game it was. The Foreign Office 
especially is ageing its men fast these few years. 
We’ve been going through hell, Hamel, and we are up 
against it now, hard up against it.” 

The slight smile passed from the lips of Hamel’s 
sunburnt, good-natured face. He himself seemed to 
become infected with something of his companion’s 
anxiety. 

‘‘ There’s nothing seriously wrong, is there, Reg- 
gie ? ” he asked. 

“ Dick,” said Kinsley, with a sigh, “ I am afraid 
there is. It’s very seldom I talk as plainly as this 
to any one, but you are just the person one can un- 


THE VANISHED MESSENGER 59 

burden oneself to a little ; and to tell you the truth, it’s 
rather a relief. As you say, these eighteen arrests in 
one week do mean something. Half of the English- 
men who have been arrested are, to my certain knowl- 
edge, connected with our Secret Service, and they have 
been arrested, in many cases, where there are no forti- 
fications worth speaking of within fifty miles, on one 
pretext or another. The fact of the matter is that 
things are going on in Germany, just at the present 
moment, the knowledge of which is of vital interest to 
us.” 

“ Then these arrests,” Hamel remarked, “ are really 
bona fide.f^ ” 

“ Without a doubt,” his companion agreed. “ I 
only wonder there have not been more. I am telling 
you what is a pretty open secret when I tell you that 
there is a conference due to be held this week at some 
place or another on the continent — I don’t know 
where, myself — which will have a very important 
bearing upon our future. We know just as much as 
that and not much more.” 

“ A conference between whom ? ” Hamel asked. 

Kinsley dropped his voice almost to a whisper. 

“ We know,” he replied, ‘‘ that a very great man 
from Russia, a greater still from France, a minister 
from Austria, a statesman from Italy, and an envoy 
from Japan, have been invited to meet a German min- 
ister whose name I will not mention, even to you. The 
subject of their proposed discussion has never been 
breathed. One can only suspect. When I tell you 
that no one from this country was invited to the con- 
ference, I think you will be able, broadly speaking, to 
divine its purpose. The clouds have been gathering 


6o THE VANISHED MESSENGER 

for a good many years, and we have oijly buried our 
heads a little deeper in the sands. We have had our 
chances and wilfully chucked them away. National 
Service or three more army corps four years ago 
would have brought us an alliance which would have 
meant absolute safety for twenty-one years. You 
know what happened. We have lived through many 
rumours and escaped, more narrowly than most 
people realise, a great many dangers, but there is 
every indication this time that the end is really 
coming.” 

“ And what will the end be ? ” Hamel enquired 
eagerly. 

Kinsley shrugged his shoulders and paused while 
their glasses were filled with wine. 

“ It will be in the nature of a diplomatic coup,” he 
said presently. “ Of that much I feel sure. England 
will be forced into such a position that she will have 
no alternative left but to declare war. That, of 
course, will be the end of us. With our ridiculously 
small army and absolutely no sane scheme for home 
defence, we shall lose all that we have worth fighting 
for — our colonies — without being able to strike 
a blow. The thing is so ridiculously obvious. It has 
been admitted time after time by every sea lord and 
every commander-in-chief. We have listened to it, 
and that’s all. Our fleet is needed under present con- 
ditions to protect our own shores. There isn’t a 
single battleship which could be safely spared. Can- 
ada, Australia, New Zealand, Egypt, India, must take 
care of themselves. I wonder when a nation of the 
world ever played fast and loose with great posses- 
sions as we have done ! ” 


THE VANISHED MESSENGER 6i 

“ This is a nice sort of thing to hear almost one’s 
first night in England,” Hamel remarked a little 
gloomily. “ Tell me some more about this confer- 
ence. Are you sure that your information is re- 
liable? ” 

“ Our information is miserably scanty,” Kinsley ad- 
mitted. “ Curiously enough, the man who must know 
most about the whole thing is an Englishman, one of 
the most curious mortals in the British Empire. A 
spy of his succeeded in learning more than any of our 
people, and without being arrested, too.” 

“ And who is this singular person ? ” Hamel asked. 

‘‘ A man of whom you, I suppose, never heard,” 
Kinsley replied. “ His name is Fentolin — Miles 
Fentolin — and he lives somewhere down in Norfolk. 
He is one of the strangest characters that ever lived, 
stranger than any effort of fiction I ever met with. 
He was in the Foreign Office once, and every one was 
predicting for him a brilliant career. Then there was 
an accident — let me see, it must have been some six 
or seven years ago — and he had to have both his 
legs amputated. No one knows exactly how the ac- 
cident happened, and there was always a certain 
amount of mystery connected with it. Since then he 
has buried himself in the country. I don’t think, in 
fact, that he ever moves outside his place ; but some- 
how or other he has managed to keep in touch with 
all the political movements of the day.” 

Fentolin,” Hamel repeated softly to himself. 
“ Tell me, whereabouts does he live ? ” 

“ Quite a wonderful place in Norfolk, I believe, 
somewhere near the sea, I’ve forgotten the name, for 
the moment. He has had wireless telegraphy in- 


62 THE VANISHED MESSENGER 

stalled ; he has a telegraph office in the house, half-a- 
dozen private wires, and they say that he spends an 
immense amount of money keeping in touch with 
foreign politics. His excuse is that he speculates 
largely, as I dare say he does; but just lately,” 
Kinsley went on more slowly, “ he has been an object 
of anxiety to all of us. It was he who sent the first 
agent out to Germany, to try and discover at least 
where this conference was to be held. His man re- 
turned in safety, and he has one over there now who 
has not been arrested. We seem to have lost nearly 
all of ours.” 

‘‘ Do you mean to say that this man Fentolin actu- 
ally possesses information which the Grovemment 
hasn’t as to the intentions of foreign Powers.?* ” 
Hamel asked. 

Kinsley nodded. There was a slight flush upon his 
pallid cheeks. 

‘‘ He not only has it, but he doesn’t mean to part 
with it. A few hundred years ago, when the rulers of 
this country were men with blood in their veins, he’d 
have been given just one chance to tell all he knew, 
and hung as a traitor if he hesitated. We don’t do 
that sort of thing nowadays. We rather go in for 
preserving traitors. We permit them even in our own 
House of Commons. However, I don’t want to de- 
press you and play the alarmist so soon after your 
return to London. I dare say the old country’ll 
muddle along through our time.” 

“ Don’t be foolish,” Hamel begged. “ There’s no 
other subject of conversation could interest me half 
as much. Have you formed any idea yourself as to 
the nature of this conference ? ” 


THE VANISHED MESSENGER 63 

“ We all have an idea,” Kinsley replied grimly ; 
‘‘ India for Russia; a large slice of China for Japan, 
with probably Australia thrown in; Alsace-Lorraine 
for France’s neutrality. There’s bribery for you. 
What’s to become of poor England then? Our 
friends are only human, after all, and it’s merely a 
question of handing over to them sufficient spoil. 
They must consider themselves first: that’s the first 
duty of their politicians towards their country.” 

“ You mean to say,” Hamel asked, “ that you seri- 
ously believe that a conference is on the point of 
being held at which France and Russia are to be in- 
vited to consider suggestions like this ? ” 

“ I am afraid there’s no doubt about it,” Kinsley 
declared. “ Their ambassadors in London profess to 
know nothing. That, of course, is their reasonable 
attitude, but there’s no doubt whatever that the con- 
ference has been planned. I should say that to-night 
we are nearer war, if we can summon enough spirit to 
fight, than we have been since Fashoda.” 

‘‘ Queer if I have returned just in time for the 
scrap,” Hamel remarked thoughtfully. “ I was in 
the Militia once, so I expect I can get a j ob, if there’s 
any fighting.” 

“I can get you a better job than fighting — one 
you can start on to-morrow, too,” Kinsley announced 
abruptly, ‘‘ that is if you really want to help ? ” 

“ Of course I do,” Hamel insisted. “ I’m on for 
anything.” 

“ You say that you are entirely your own master 
for the next six months ? ” 

“ Or as much longer as I like,” Hamel assented. 
“No plans at all, except that I might drift round to 


64 THE VANISHED MESSENGER 

the Norfolk coast and look up some of the places 
where the governor used to paint. There’s a queer 
little house — St. David’s Tower, I believe they call it 
— which really belongs to me. It was given to my 
father, or rather he bought it, from a man who I 
think must have been some relative of your friend. I 
feel sure the name was Fentolin.” 

Reginald Kinsley set down his wine-glass. 

“ Is your St. David’s Tower anywhere near a place 
called Salthouse.? ” he asked reflectively. 

‘‘ That’s the name of the village,” Hamel admitted. 
“ My father used to spend quite a lot of time in those 
parts, and painted at least a dozen pictures down 
there.” 

‘‘ This is a coincidence,” Reginald Kinsley declared, 
lighting a cigarette. “ I think, if I were you, Dick, 
I’d go down and claim my property.” 

“ Tired of me already ” Hamel asked, smiling. 

Reginald Kinsley knocked the ash from his ciga- 
rette. 

“ It isn’t that. The fact is, that job I was speak- 
ing to you about was simply this. We want some one 
to go down to Salthouse — not exactly as a spy, you 
know, but some one who has his wits about him. We 
are all of us very curious about this man Fentolin. 
There are no end of rumours which I won’t mention to 
you, for they might only put you off the scent. But 
the man seems to be always intriguing. It wouldn’t 
matter so much if he were our friend, or if he were sim- 
ply a financier, but to tell you the truth, we have cause 
to suspect him.” 

“ But he’s an Englishman, surely ” Hamel asked. 

The Fentolin who was my father’s friend was just a 


THE VANISHED MESSENGER 65 

very wealthy Norfolk squire — one of the best, from 
all I have heard.” 

“ Miles Fentolin is an Englishman,” Kinsley ad- 
mitted. “ It is true, too, that he comes of a very 
ancient Norfolk family. It doesn’t do, however, to 
build too much upon that. From all I can learn of 
him, he is a sort of Puck, a professional mischief- 
maker. I don’t suppose there’s anything an outsider 
could find out which would be really useful to us, but 
all the same, if I had the time, I should certainly go 
down to Norfolk myself.” 

The conversation drifted away for a while. Mu- 
tual acquaintances entered, there were several intro- 
ductions, and it was not until the two found themselves 
together in Kinsley’s rooms for a few minutes before 
parting that they were alone again. Hamel returned 
then once more to the subject. 

‘‘ Reggie,” he said, “ if you think it would be of 
the slightest use. I’ll go down to Salthouse to-morrow. 
I am rather keen on going there, anyway. I am abso- 
lutely fed up with life here already.” 

“ It’s just what I want you to do,” Kinsley said. 
“ I am afraid Fentolin is a little too clever for you to 
get on the right side of him, but if you could only get 
an idea as to what his game is down there, it would be 
a great help. You see, the fellow can’t have gone 
into all this sort of thing blindfold. We’ve lost sev- 
eral very useful agents abroad and two from New 
York who’ve gone into his pay. There must be a 
method in it somewhere. If it really ends with his 
financial operations — why, all right. That’s very 
likely what it’ll come to, but we should like to know, 
The merest hint would be useful,” 


66 THE VANISHED MESSENGER 

• “ I’ll do my best,” Hamel promised. “ In any 
case, it will be just the few days’ holiday I was looking 
forward to.” 

Kinsley helped himself to whisky and soda and 
turned towards his friend. 

“ Here’s luck to you, Dick ! Take care of yourself. 
All sorts of things may happen, you know. Old man 
Fentolin may take a fancy to you and tell you secrets 
that any statesman in Europe would be glad to hear. 
He may tell you why this conference is being held and 
what the result will be. You may be the first to 
hear of our coming fall. Well, here’s to you, any- 
way ! Drop me a line, if you’ve anything to report.” 

“ Cheero ! ” Hamel answered, as he set down his 
empty tumbler. “ Astonishing how keen I feel about 
this little adventure. I’m perfectly sick of the hum- 
drum life I have been leading the last week, and you 
do sort of take one back to the Arabian Nights, you 
know, Reggie. I am never quite sure whether to take 
you seriously or not.” 

Kinsley smiled as he held his friend’s hand for a 
moment. 

“ Dick,” he said earnestly, “ if only you’d believe 
it, the adventures in the Arabian Nights were as noth- 
ing compared with the present-day drama of foreign 
politics. You see, we’ve learned to conceal things 
nowadays — to smooth them over, to play the part of 
ordinary citizens to the world while we tug at the un- 
derhand levers in our secret moments. Good night! 
Good luck ! ” 


CHAPTER VIII 


Richard Hamel, although he certainly had not the 
appearance of a person afflicted with nerves, gave a 
slight start. For the last half-hour, during which 
time the train had made no stop, he had been alone 
in his compartment. Yet, to his surprise, he was sud- 
denly aware that the seat opposite to him had been 
noiselessly taken by a girl whose eyes, also, were fixed 
with curious intentness upon the broad expanse of 
marshland and sands across which the train was slowly 
making its way. Hamel had spent a great many 
years abroad, and his first impulse was to speak with 
the unexpected stranger. He forgot for a moment 
that he was in England, travelling in a first-class car- 
riage, and pointed with his left hand towards the 
sea. 

‘‘ Queer country this, isn’t it.?^ ” he remarked pleas- 
antly. Do you know, I never heard you come in. 
It gave me quite a start when I found that I had a 
fellow-passenger.” 

She looked at him with a certain amount of still sur- 
prise, a look which he returned just as steadfastly, 
because even in those few seconds he was conscious of 
that strange selective interest, certainly unaccounted 
for by his own impressions of her appearance. She 
seemed to him, at that first glance, very far indeed 
from being good-looking, according to any of the 
standards by which he had measured good looks. She 


68 THE VANISHED MESSENGER 

was thin, too thin for his taste, and she carried her- 
self with an aloofness to which he was unaccustomed. 
Her cheeks were quite pale, her hair of a soft shade 
of brown, her eyes grey and sad. She gave him alto- 
gether an impression of colourlessness, and he had 
been living in a land where colour and vitality meant 
much. Her speech, too, in its very restraint, fell 
strangely upon his ears. 

“ I have been travelling in an uncomfortable com- 
partment,” she observed. “ I happened to notice, 
when passing along the corridor, that yours was 
empty. In any case, I am getting out at the next 
station.” 

“ So am I,” he replied, still cheerfully. “ I sup- 
pose the next station is St. David’s .f’ ” 

She made no answer, but so far as her expression 
counted for anything at all, she was a little surprised. 
Her eyes considered him for a moment. Hamel was 
tall, well over six feet, powerfully made, with good 
features, clear eyes, and complexion unusually sun- 
burnt. He wore a flannel collar of unfamiliar shape, 
and his clothes, although they were neat enough, were 
of a pattern and cut obviously designed to afford the 
maximum of ease and comfort with the minimum re- 
gard to appearance. He wore, too, very thick boots, 
and his hands gave one the impression that they were 
seldom gloved. His voice was pleasant, and he had 
the easy self-confidence of a person sure of himself in 
the world. She put him down as a colonial — perhaps 
an American — but his rank in life mystified her. 

“ This seems the queerest stretch of country,” he 
went on; “ long spits of sand jutting right out into 
the sea, dikes and creeks — miles and miles of them. 


THE VANISHED MESSENGER 69 

Now, I wonder, is it low tide or high? Low, I should 
think, because of the sea-shine on the sand there.” 

She glanced out of the window. 

“ The tide,” she told him, ‘‘ is almost at its lowest.” 

“ You live in this neighbourhood, perhaps? ” he en- 
quired. 

“ I do,” she assented. 

“ Sort of country one might get very fond of,” he 
ventured. 

She glanced at him from the depths of her grey 
eyes. 

“ Do you think so? ” she rejoined coldly. “ For 
my part, I hate it.” 

He was surprised at the unexpected emphasis of her 
tone — the first time, indeed, that she had shown any 
signs of interest in the conversation. 

“ Kind of dull I suppose you find it,” he remarked 
pensively, looking out across the waste of lavender- 
grown marshes, sand hummocks piled with seaweed, 
and a far distant line of pebbled shore. ‘‘ And yet, 
I don’t know. I have lived by the sea a good deal, 
and however monotonous it may seem at first, there’s 
always plenty of change, really. Tide and wind do 
such wonderful work.” 

She, too, was looking out now towards the sea. 

“ Oh, it isn’t exactly that,” she said quietly. “ I 
am quite willing to admit what all the tourists and 
chance visitors call the fascination of these places. I 
happen to dislike them, that is all. Perhaps it is be- 
cause I live here, because I see them day by day ; per- 
haps because the sight of them and the thought of 
them have become woven into my life.” 

She was talking half to herself. For Sh moment, 


70 THE VANISHED MESSENGER 

even the knowledge of his presence had escaped her. 
Hamel, however, did not realise that fact. He wel- 
comed her confidence as a sign of relaxation from the 
frigidity of her earlier demeanour. 

“ That seems hard,” he observed sympathetically. 
“ It seems odd to hear you talk like that, too. Your 
life, surely, ought to be pleasant enough.” 

She looked away from the sea into his face. Al- 
though the genuine interest which she saw there and 
the kindly expression of his eyes disarmed annoyance, 
she still stiffened slightly. 

“ Why ought it? ” 

The question was a little bewildering. 

“ WTiy, because you are young and a girl,” he re- 
plied. “ It’s natural to be cheerful, isn’t it ? ” 

“ Is it.?^ ” she answered listlessly. “ I cannot tell. 
I have not had much experience.” 

“ How old are you ? ” he asked bluntly. 

This time it certainly seemed as though her reply 
would contain some rebuke for his curiosity. She 
glanced once more into his face, however, and the in- 
stinctive desire to administer that well-deserved snub 
passed away. He was so obviously interested, his 
question was asked so naturally, that its spice of im- 
pertinence was as though it had not existed. 

“ I am twenty-one,” she told him. 

“ And how long have you lived here ? ” 

“ Since I left boarding-school, four years ago.” 

“ Anywhere near where I am going to bury myself 
for a time, I wonder.? ” he went on. 

“ That depends,” she replied. “ Our only neigh- 
bours are the Lorneybrookes of Market Burnham. 
Are you going there ? ” 


THE VANISHED MESSENGER 71 

He shook his head. 

“ I’ve got a little shanty of my own,” he explained, 
“ quite close to St. David’s Station. I’ve never even 
seen it yet.” 

She vouchsafed some slight show of curiosity. 

“ Where is this shanty, as you call it? ” she asked 
him. 

“ I really haven’t the faintest idea,” he replied. 
“ I am looking for it now. All I can tell you is that it 
stands just out of reach of the full tides, on a piece of 
rock, dead on the beach and about a mile from the 
station. It was built originally for a coastguard sta- 
tion and meant to hold a lifeboat, but they found they 
could never launch the lifeboat when they had it, so 
the man to whom all the foreshore and most of the 
land around here belongs — a Mr. Fentolin, I believe 
— sold it to mjA father. I expect the place has 
tumbled to pieces by this time, but I thought I’d have 
a look at it.” 

She was gazing at him steadfastly now, with parted 
lips. 

“ What is your name? ” she demanded. 

“ Richard Hamel.” 

“ Hamel.” 

She repeated it lingeringly. It seemed quite un- 
familiar. 

“ Was your father a great friend of Mr. Fentolin’s, 
then? ” she asked. 

“ I believe so, in a sort of way,” he answered. 
“ My father was Hamel the artist, you know. They 
made him an R.A. some time before he died. He used 
to come out here and live in a tent. Then Mr. Fento- 
lin let him use this place and finally sold it to him. 


72 THE VANISHED MESSENGER 

My father used often to speak to me about it before 
he died.” 

“ Tell me,” she enquired, “ I do not know much 
about these matters, but have you any papers to prove 
that it was sold to your father and that you have the 
right to occupy it now when you choose ” 

He smiled. 

“ Of course I have,” he assured her. “ As a matter 
of fact, as none of us have been here for so long, I 
thought I’d better bring the title-deed, or whatever 
they call it, along with me. It’s with the rest of my 
traps at Norwich. Oh, the place belongs to me, right 
enough ! ” he went on, smiling. “ Don’t tell me that 
any one’s pulled it down, or that it’s disappeared 
from the face of the earth ” 

“ No,” she said, “it still remains there. When 
we are round the next curve, I think I can show it to 
you. But every one has forgotten, I think, that it 
doesn’t belong to Mr. Fentolin still. He uses it him- 
self very often.” 

“ What for.? ” 

She looked at her questioner quite steadfastly, 
quite quietly, speechlessly. A curious uneasiness 
crept into his thoughts. There were mysterious 
things in her face. He knew from that moment that 
she, too, directly or indirectly, was concerned with 
those strange happenings at which Kinsley had hinted. 
He knew that there were things which she was keeping 
from him now. 

“ Mr. Fentolin uses one of the rooms as a studio. 
He likes to paint there and be near the sea,” she ex- 
plained. “ But for the rest, I do not know. I never 
go near the place.” 


THE VANISHED MESSENGER 73 

‘‘ I am afraid,” he remarked, after a few moments of 
silence, “ that I shall be a little unpopular with Mr. 
Fentolin. Perhaps I ought to have written first, but 
then, of course, I had no idea that any one was mak- 
ing use of the place.” 

“I do not understand,” she said, ‘‘ how you can 
possibly expect to come down like this and live there, 
without any preparation.” 

‘‘ Why not ? ” 

‘‘ You haven’t any servants nor any furniture nor 
things to cook with.” 

He laughed. 

‘‘ Oh ! I am an old campaigner,” he assured her. 

I meant to pick up a few oddments in the village. I 
don’t suppose I shall stay very long, anyhow, but I 
thought I’d like to have a look at the place. By-the- 
by, what sort of a man is Mr. Fentolin? ” 

Again there was that curious expression in her 
eyes, an expression almost of secret terror, this time 
not wholly concealed. He could have sworn that her 
hands were cold. 

‘‘ He met with an accident many years ago,” she 
said slowly, “ Both his legs were amputated. He* 
spends his life in a little carriage which he wheels 
about himself.” 

“ Poor fellow I ” Hamel exclaimed, with a strong 
man’s ready sympathy for suffering. “ That is just 
as much as I have heard about him. Is he a decent 
sort of fellow in other ways? I suppose, anyhow, if 
he has really taken a fancy to my little shanty, I shall 
have to give it up.” 

Then, as it seemed to him, for the first time real life 
leaped into her face. She leaned towards him. Her 


74 THE VANISHED MESSENGER 

tone was half commanding, half imploring, her man- 
ner entirely confidential. 

‘‘ Don’t ! ” she begged. ‘‘ It is yours. Claim it. 
Live in it. Do anything you like with it, but take it 
away from Mr. Fentolin!” 

Hamel was speechless. He sat a little forward, a 
hand on either knee, his mouth ungracefully open, an 
expression of blank and utter bewilderment in his face. 
For the first time he began to have vague dodb+3 con- 
cerning this young lady. Everything about her had 
been so strange: her quiet entrance into the carriage, 
her unusual manner of talking, and finally this last 
passionate, inexplicable appeal. 

“ I am afraid,” he said at last, “ I don’t quite un- 
derstand. You say the poor fellow has taken a fancy 
to the place and likes being there. Well, it isn’t much 
of a catch for me, anyway. I’m rather a wanderer, 
and I dare say I shan’t be back in these parts again 
for years. Why shouldn’t I let him have it if he wants 
it ? It’s no loss to me. I’m not a painter, you know, 
like my father.” 

She seemed on the point of making a further appeal. 
Her lips, even, were parted, her head a little thrown 
back. And then she stopped. She said nothing. 
The silence lasted so long that he became almost em- 
barrassed. 

“ You will forgive me if I am a little dense, won’t 
you ? ” he begged. ‘‘ To tell you the truth,” he went 
on, smiling, “ I’ve got a sort of feeling that I’d like 
to do anything you ask me. Now won’t you just ex- 
plain a little more clearly what you mean, and I’ll blow 
up the old place sky high, if it’s any pleasure to 
you.” 


THE VANISHED MESSENGER 75 

She seemed suddenly to have reverted to her former 
self — the cold and colourless young woman who had 
first taken the seat opposite to his. 

“ Mine was a very foolish request,” she admitted 
quietly. “ I am sorry that I ever made it. It was 
just an impulse, because the little building we were 
speaking of has been connected with one or two very 
disagreeable episodes. Nevertheless, it was foolish of 
me. How long did you think of staying there — that 
is,” she added, with a faint smile, “ providing that you 
find it possible to prove your claim and take up pos- 
session.? ” 

‘‘ Oh, just for a week or so,” he answered lightly, 
“ and as to regaining possession of it,” he went on, a 
slightly pugnacious instinct stirring him, “ I don’t 
imagine that there’ll be any difficulty about that.” 

“ Really ! ” she murmured. 

“ Not that I want to make myself disagreeable,” he 
continued, “ but the Tower is mine, right enough, even 
if I have let it remain unoccupied for some time.” 

She let down the window — a task in which he 
hastened to assist her, A rush of salt, cold air swept 
into the compartment. He sniffed it eagerly. 

Wonderful ! ” he exclaimed. 

She stretched out a long arm and pointed. Away 
in the distance, on the summit of a line of pebbled 
shore, standing, as it seemed, sheer over the sea, was a 
little black speck. 

That,” she said, ‘‘ is the Tower,” 

He changed his position and leaned out of the 
window. 

“ Well, it’s a queer little place,” he remarked. ‘‘ It 
doesn’t look worth quarrelling over, does it.? ” 


76 THE VANISHED MESSENGER 

“ And that,” she went on, directing his attention to 
the hill, “ is Mr. Fentolin’s home, St. David’s Hall.” 

For several moments he made no remark at all. 
There was something curiously impressive in that sud- 
den sweep up from the sea-line; the strange, miniature 
mountain standing in the middle of the marshes, with 
its tree-crowned background; and the long, weather- 
beaten front of the house turned bravely to the sea. 

“ I never saw anything like it,” he declared. 
“ Why, it’s barely a quarter of a mile from the sea, 
isn’t it.? ” 

“ A little more than that. It is a strangely situ- 
ated abode, isn’t it.? ” 

“Wonderful!” he agreed, with emphasis. “I 
must study the geological formation of that hill,” he 
continued, with interest. “ Why, it looks almost like 
an island now.” 

“ That is because of the floods,” she told him. 
“ Even at high tide the creeks never reach so far as the 
back there. All the water you see stretching away 
inland is flood water — the result of the storm, I sup- 
pose. This is where you get out,” she concluded, ris- 
ing to her feet. 

She turned away with the slightest nod. A maid 
was already awaiting her at the door of the compart- 
ment. Hamel was suddenly conscious of the fact that 
he disliked her going immensely. 

“We shall, perhaps, meet again during the next 
few days,” he remarked. 

She half turned her head. Her expression was 
scarcely encouraging. 

“ I hope,” she said, “ that you will not be disap- 
pointed in your quarters.” 


THE VANISHED MESSENGER 77 

Hamel followed her slowly on to the platform, saw 
her escorted to a very handsome motor-car by an obse- 
quious station-master, and watched the former disap- 
pear down the stretch of straight road which led to the 
hill. Then, with a stick in one hand, and the hand- 
bag which was his sole luggage in the other, he left 
the station and turned seaward. 


CHAPTER IX 


Mr. Fentolin, surrounded by his satellites, was 
seated in his chair before the writing-table. There 
were present in the room most of the people important 
to him in his somewhat singular life. A few feet 
away, in characteristic attitude, stood Meekins. 
Doctor Sarson, with his hands behind him, was looking 
out of the window. At the further end of the table 
stood a confidential telegraph clerk, who was just de- 
parting with a little sheaf of messages. By his side, 
with a notebook in her hand, stood Mr. Fentolin’s 
private secretary — a white-haired woman, with a 
strangely transparent skin and light brown eyes, 
dressed in somber black, a woman who might have been 
of any age from thirty to fifty. Behind her was a 
middle-aged man whose position in the household no 
one was quite sure about — a clean-shaven man whose 
name was Ryan, and who might very well have been 
once an actor or a clergyman. In the background 
stood Henderson, the perfect butler. 

“ It is perhaps opportune,” Mr. Fentolin said 
quietly, that you all whom I trust should be present 
here together. I wish you to understand one thing. 
You have, I believe, in my employ learned the gift of 
silence. It is to be exercised with regard to a certain 
visitor brought here by my nephew, a visitor whom I 
regret to say is now lying seriously ill.” 

There was absolute silence. Doctor Sarson alone 


THE VANISHED MESSENGER 79 

turned from the window as though about to speak, but 
met Mr. Fentolin’s eye and at once resumed his po- 
sition. 

“ I rely upon you all,” Mr. Fentolin continued 
softly. ‘‘ Henderson, you, perhaps, have the most 
difficult task, for you have the servants to control. 
Nevertheless, I rely upon you, also. If one word of 
this visitor’s presence here leaks out even so far as the 
village, out they go, every one of them. I will not 
have a servant in the place who does not respect my 
wishes. You can give any reason you like for my 
orders. It is a whim. I have whims, and I choose to 
pay for them. You are all better paid than any 
man breathing could pay you. In return I ask only 
for your implicit obedience.” 

He stretched out his hand and took a cigarette from 
a curiously carved ivory box which stood by his side. 
He tapped it gently upon the table and looked up. 

“ I think, sir,” Henderson said respectfully, ‘‘ that 
I can answer for the servants. Being mostly foreign- 
ers, they see little or nothing of the village peo- 
ple.” 

No one else made any remark. It was strange to 
see how dominated they all were by that queer little 
fragment of humanity, whose head scarcely reached a 
foot above the table before which he sat. They de- 
parted silently, almost abjectly, dismissed with a 
single wave of the hand. Mr. Fentolin beckoned his 
secretary to remain. She came a little nearer, 

“ Sit down, Lucy,” he ordered. 

She seated herself a few feet away from him. Mr. 
Fentolin watched her for several moments. He him- 
self had his back to the light. The woman, on the 


8o THE VANISHED MESSENGER 

other hand, was facing it. The windows were high, 
and the curtains were drawn back to their fullest ex- 
tent. A cold stream of northern light fell upon her 
face. Mr. Fentolin gazed at her and nodded his 
head slightly. 

“ My dear Lucy,” he declared, “ you are wonder- 
ful — a perfect cameo, a gem. To look at you now, 
with your delightful white hair and your flawless 
skin, one would never believe that you had ever 
spoken a single angry word, that you had ever felt 
the blood flow through your veins, or that your eyes 
had ever looked upon the gentle things of life.” 

She looked at him, still without speech. The im- 
mobility of her face was indeed a marvellous thing. 
Mr. Fentolin’s expression darkened. 

“ Sometimes,” he murmured softly, “ I think that 
if I had strong fingers — really strong fingers, you 
know, Lucy — I should want to take you by the 
throat and hold you tighter and tighter, until your 
breath came fast, and your eyes came out from their 
shadows.” 

She turned over a few pages of her notebook. To 
all appearance she had not heard a word. 

“ To-day,” she announced, “ is the fourth of 
April. Shall I send out the various checks to those 
men in Paris, New York, Frankfort, St. Petersburg, 
and Tokio? ” 

“ You can send the checks,” he told her. Be 
sure that you draw them, as usual, upon the Credit 
Lyonaise and in the name you know of. Say to 
Lebonaitre of Paris that you consider his last re- 
ports faulty. No mention was made of Monsieur 
C’s visit to the Russian Embassy, or of the supper 


THE VANISHED MESSENGER 8i 


party given to the Baron von Erlstein by a certain 
Russian gentleman. Warn him, if you please, that 
reports with such omissions are useless to me.” 

She wrote a few words in her book. 

“ You made a note of that.? ” 

She raised her head. 

“ I do not make mistakes,” she said. 

His eyebrows were drawn together. This was his 
work, he told himself, this magnificent physical sub- 
jection. Yet his inability to stir her sometimes mad- 
dened him. 

‘‘You know who is in this house.?” he asked. 
“ You know the name of my unknown guest.? ” 

“ I know nothing,” she replied. “ His presence 
does not interest me.” 

“ Supposing I desire you to know? ” he persisted, 
leaning a little forward. “ Supposing I tell you that 
it is your duty to know .? ” 

“ Then,” she said, “ I should tell you that I be- 
lieve him to be the special envoy from New York 
to The Hague, or whatever place on the Continent 
this coming conference is to be held at.” 

“ Right, woman ! ” Mr. Fentolin answered sharply. 
“ Right ! It is the special envoy. He has his man- 
date with him. I have them both — the man and his 
mandate. Can you guess what I am going to do 
with them ? ” 

“ It is not difficult,” she replied. “ Your methods 
are scarcely original. His mandate to the flames, 
and his body to the sea ! ” 

She raised her eyes as she spoke and looked over 
Mr. Fentolin’s shoulder, across the marshland to the 
grey stretch of ocean. Her eyes became fixed. It 


82 THE VANISHED MESSENGER 

was not possible to say that they held any expres- 
sion, and yet one felt that she saw beneath the grey 
waves, even to the rocks and. caverns below. 

“ It does not terrify you, then,” he asked curiously, 
‘‘ to think that a man under this roof is about to 
die? ” 

“ Why should it ? ” she retorted. Death does 
not frighten me — my own or anybody else’s. Does 
it frighten you?” 

His face was suddenly livid, his eyes full of fierce 
anger. His lip's twitched. He struck the table be- 
fore him. 

“ Beast of a woman! ” he shouted. ‘‘ You ghoul! 
How dare you ! How dare you — ” 

He stopped short. He passed his hand across his 
forehead. All the time the woman remained un- 
moved. 

“ Do you know,” he muttered, his voice still shak- 
ing a little, ‘‘ that I believe sometimes I am afraid 
of you? How would you like to see me there, eh, 
down at the bottom of that hungry sea? You watch 
sometimes so fixedly. You’d miss me, wouldn’t you? 
I am a good master, you know. I pay well. You’ve 
been with me a good many years. You were a dif- 
ferent sort of woman when you first came.” 

“ Yes,” she admitted, “ I was a different sort of 
woman.” 

“ You don’t remember those days, I suppose,” he 
went on, “ the days when you had brown hair, when 
you used to carry roses about and sing to yourself 
while you beat your work out of that wretched type- 
writer? ” 

“ No,” she answered, “ I do not remember those 


THE VANISHED MESSENGER 83 

dajs. They do not belong to me. It is some other 
woman you are thinking of.” 

Their eyes met. Mr. Fentolin turned away first. 
He struck the bell at his elbow. She rose at once. 

“ Be off ! ” he ordered. When you look at me 
like that, you send shivers through me ! You’ll have 
to go ; I can see you’ll have to go. I can’t keep you 
any longer. You are the only person on the face of 
the earth who dares to say things to me which make 
me think, the only person who doesn’t shrink at the 
sound of my voice. You’ll have to go. Send Sar- 
son to me at once. You’ve upset me!” 

She listened to his words in expressionless silence. 
When he had finished, carrying her book in her 
hand, she very quietly moved towards the door. He 
watched her, leaning a little forward in his chair, his 
lips parted, his eyes threatening. She walked with 
steady, even footsteps. She carried herself with al- 
most machine-like erectness ; her skirts were noiseless. 
She had the trick of turning the handle of the door in 
perfect silence. He heard her calm voice in the 
hall. 

“ Doctor Sarson is to go to Mr. Fentolin.” 

Mr. Fentolin sat quite still, feeling his own pulse. 

“ That woman,” he muttered to himself, “ that 
woman — some day I shouldn’t be surprised if she 
really — ” 

He paused. The doctor had entered the room. 

‘‘ I am upset, Sarson,” he declared. “ Come and 
feel my pulse quickly. That woman has upset me.” 

“Miss Price 

“ Miss Price, d — n it ! Lucy — yes I ” 

“ It seems unlike her,” the doctor remarked. “ I 


84 THE VANISHED MESSENGER 

have never heard her utter a useless syllable in my 
life.” 

Mr. Fentolin held out his wrist. 

‘‘ It’s what she doesn’t say,” he muttered. 

The doctor produced his watch. In less than a 
minute he put it away. 

“ This is quite unnecessary,” he pronounced. 
“ Your pulse is wonderful.” 

‘‘Not hurried.f* No signs of palpitation.?” 

“ You have seven or eight footmen, all young 
men,” Doctor Sarson replied drily. “ I will wager 
that there isn’t one of them has a pulse so vigorous 
as yours.” 

Mr. Fentolin leaned a little back in his chair. An 
expression of satisfaction crept over his face. 

“ You reassure me, my dear Sarson. That is ex- 
cellent. What of our patient ? ” 

“ There is no change.” 

“ I am afraid,” Mr. Fentolin sighed, “ that we 
shall have trouble with him. These strong people 
always give trouble.” 

“ It will be just the same in the long run,” the 
doctor remarked, shrugging his shoulders. 

Mr. Fentolin held up his finger. 

“Listen! A motor-car, I believe?” 

“ It is Miss Fentolin who is just arriving,” the 
doctor announced. “ I saw the car coming as I 
crossed the hall.” 

Mr. Fentolin nodded gently. 

“Indeed?” he replied. “Indeed? So my dear 
niece has returned. Open the door, friend Sarson. 
Open the door, if you please. She will be anxious 
to see me. We must summon her,” 


CHAPTER X 


Mr. Fentolin raised to his lips the little gold whis- 
tle which hung from his neck and blew it. He seemed 
to devote very little effort to the operation, yet the 
strength of the note was wonderful. As the echoes 
died away, he let it fall by his side and waited with 
a pleased smile upon his lips. In a few seconds 
there was the hurried flutter of skirts and the sound 
of footsteps. The girl who had just completed her 
railway journey entered, followed by her brother. 
They were both a little out of breath, they both ap- 
proached the chair without a smile, the girl in ad- 
vance, with a certain expression of apprehension in 
her eyes. Mr. Fentolin sighed. He appeared to 
notice these things and regret them. 

“ My child,” he said, holding out his hands, “ my 
dear Esther, welcome home again! I heard the car 
outside. I am grieved that you did not at once 
hurry to my side.” 

‘‘ I have not been in the house two minutes,” Esther 
replied, “ and I haven’t seen mother yet. Forgive 
me.” 

She had come to a standstill a few yards away. 
She moved now very slowly towards the chair, with 
the air of one fulfilling a hateful task. The fingers 
which accepted his hands were extended almost hesi- 
tatingly. Me drew her closer to him and held her 
there. 


86 THE VANISHED MESSENGER 

“ Your mother, my dear Esther, is, I regret to say, 
suffering from a slight indisposition,” he remarked. 
“ She has been confined to her room for the last few 
days. Just a trifling affair of the nerves; nothing 
more, Doctor Sarson assures me. But my dear 
child,” he went on, “ your fingers are as cold as ice. 
You look at me so strangely, too. Alas ! you have 
not the affectionate disposition of your dear mother. 
One would scarcely believe that we have been parted 
for more than a week.” 

“ For more than a week,” she repeated, under her 
breath. 

‘‘ Stoop down, my dear. I must kiss your fore- 
head — there! Now bring up a chair to my side. 
You seem frightened — alarmed. Have you ill news 
for me? ” 

“ I have no news,” she answered, gradually re- 
covering herself. 

“ The gaieties of London, I fear,” he protested 
gently, “ have proved a little unsettling.” 

There were no gaieties for me,” the girl replied 
bitterly. “ Mrs. Sargent obeyed your orders very 
faithfully. I was not allowed to move out except 
with her.” 

‘‘ My dear child, you would not go about London 
unchaperoned ! ” 

“ There is a difference,” she retorted, “ between a 
chaperon and a jailer.” 

Mr. Fentolin sighed. He shook his head slowly. 
He seemed pained. 

“ I am not sure that you repay my care as it de- 
serves, Esther,” he declared. “ There is something 
in your deportment which disappoints me. Never 


THE VANISHED MESSENGER 87 

mind, your brother has made some atonement. I en^ 
trusted him with a little mission in which I am glad 
to say that he has been brilliantly successful.” 

“ I cannot say that I am glad to hear it,” Esther 
replied quietly. 

Mr. Fentolin sat back in his chair. His long 
fingers played nervously together, he looked at her 
gravely. 

“ My dear child,” he exclaimed, in a tone of pained 
surprise, “ your attitude distresses me ! ” 

“ I cannot help it. I have told you what I think 
about Gerald and the life he is compelled to live here. 
I don’t mind so much for myself, but for him I think 
it is abominable.” 

“ The same as ever,” Mr. Fentolin sighed. “ I fear 
that this little change has done you no good, dear 
niece.” 

“ Change ! ” she echoed. “ It was only a change 
of prisons.” 

Mr. Fentolin shook his head slowly — a distress- 
ful gesture. Yet all the time he had somehow the 
air of a man secretly gratified. 

“ You are beginning to depress me,” he announced. 
“ I think that you can go away. No, stop for just 
one moment. Stand there in the light. Dear me, 
how unfortunate! Who would have thought that 
so beautiful a mother could have so plain a daugh- 
ter ! ” 

She stood quite still before him, her hands crossed 
in front of her, something of the look of the nun 
from whom the power of suffering has gone in her 
still, cold face and steadfast eyes. 

“ Not a touch of colour,” he continued meditatively. 


88 THE VANISHED MESSENGER 

“ a figure straight as my walking-stick. Wliat a 
pity ! And all the taste, nowadays, they tell me, is 
in the other direction. The lank damsels have gone 
completely out. We buried them with Oscar Wilde. 
Run along, my dear child. You do not amuse me. 
You can take Gerald with you, if you will. I have 
nothing to say to Gerald just now. He is in my good 
books. Is there anything I can do for you, Gerald? 
Your allowance, for instance — a trifling increase or 
an advance ? I am in a generous humour.” 

“ Then grant me what I begged for the other day,” 
the boy answered quickly. ‘‘ Let me go to Sand- 
hurst. I could enter my name next week for the ex- 
aminations, and I could pass to-morrow.” 

Mr. Fentolin tapped the table thoughtfully with his 
forefinger. 

“ A little ungrateful, my dear boy,” he declared, 
“ a little ungrateful that, I think. Your confidence 
in yourself pleases me, though. You think you could 
pass your examinations ? ” 

“ I did a set of papers last week,” the boy replied. 
“ On the given percentages I came out twelfth or 
better. Mr. Brown assured me that I could go in for 
them at any moment. He promised to write you 
about it before he left.” 

Mr. Fentolin nodded gently. 

“ Now I come to think of it, I did have a letter from 
Mr. Brown,” he remarked. “ Rather an impertinence 
for a tutor, I thought it. He devoted three pages 
towards impressing upon me the necessity of your 
adopting some sort of a career.” 

“ He wrote because he thought it was his duty,” 
the boy said doggedly. 


THE VANISHED MESSENGER 89 

“ So you want to be a soldier,” Mr. Fentolin con- 
tinued musingly. ‘‘Well, well, why not.^ Our pic- 
ture galleries are full of them. There has been a 
Fentolin in every great battle for the last five hun- 
dred years. Sailors, too — plenty of them — and 
just a few diplomatists. Brave fellows! Not one, I 
fancy,” he added, “like me — not one condemned to 
pass their days in a perambulator. You are a fine 
fellow, Gerald — a regular Fentolin. Getting on for 
six feet, aren’t you.^ ” 

“ Six feet two, sir.” 

“ A very fine fellow,” Mr. Fentolin repeated. “ I 
am not so sure about the army, Gerald. You see, 
there are some people who say, like your American 
friend, that we are even now almost on the brink of 
war.” 

“ All the more reason for me to hurry,” the boy 
begged. 

Mr. Fentolin closed his eyes. 

“ Don’t 1 ” he insisted. “ Have you ever stopped 
to think what war means — the war you speak of so 
lightly.? The suffering, the misery of it! All the 
pageantry and music and heroism in front; and be- 
hind, a blackened world, a trail of writhing corpses, 
a world of weeping women for whom the sun shall 
never rise again. Ugh ! An ugly thing war, Gerald. 
I am not sure that you are not better at home here. 
Why not practise golf a little more assiduously.? I 
see from the local paper that you are still playing at 
two handicap. Now with your physique, I should 
have thought you would have been a scratch player 
long before now.” 

“ I play cricket, sir,” the boy reminded him, a 


go THE VANISHED MESSENGER 

little impatiently, “ and, after all, there are other 
things in the world besides games.” 

Mr. Fentolin’s long finger shot suddenly out. He 
was leaning a little from his chair. His expression of 
gentle immobility had passed away. His face was 
stern, almost stony. 

“ You have spoken the truth, Gerald,” he said. 
“ There are other things in the world besides games. 
There is the real, the tragical side of life, the duties 
one takes up, the obligations of honour. You have 
not forgotten, young man, the burden you carry ” 

The boy was paler, but he had drawn himself to 
his full height. 

“ I have not forgotten, sir,” he answered bitterly. 
“ Do I show any signs of forgetting.? Haven’t I done 
your bidding year by year.? Aren’t I here now to 
do it.? ” 

“ Then do it ! ” Mr. Fentolin retorted sharply. 
“ When I am ready for you to leave here, you shall 
leave. Until then, you are mine. Remember that. 
Ah ! this is Doctor Sarson who comes, I believe. That 
must mean that it is five o’clock. Come in. Doctor. 
I am not engaged. You see, I am alone with my dear 
niece and nephew. We have been having a little 
pleasant conversation.” 

Doctor Sarson bowed to Esther, who scarcely 
glanced at him. He remained in the background, 
quietly waiting. 

‘‘ A very delightful little conversation,” Mr. Fen- 
tolin concluded. “ I have been congratulating my 
nephew. Doctor, upon his wisdom in preferring the 
quiet country life down here to the wearisome routine 
of a profession. He escapes the embarrassing choice 


THE VANISHED MESSENGER 91 

of a career by preferring to devote his life to my com- 
fort. I shall not forget it. I shall not be ungrate- 
ful. I may have my faults, but I am not ungrateful. 
Run away now, both of you. Dear children you are, 
but one wearies, you know, of everything. I am 
going out. You see, the twilight is coming. The 
tide is changing. I am going down to meet the sea.” 

His little carriage moved towards the door. The 
brother and sister passed out. Esther led Gerald into 
the great dining-room, and from there, through the 
open windows, out on to the terrace. She gripped his 
shoulder and pointed down to the Tower. 

“ Something,” she whispered in his ear, “ is going 
to happen there.” 


CHAPTER XI 


The little station at which Hamel alighted was like 
an oasis in the middle of a flat stretch of sand and 
marsh. It consisted only of a few raised planks 
and a rude shelter — built, indeed, for the convenience 
of St. David’s Hall alone, for the nearest village was 
two miles away. The station-master, on his return 
from escorting the young lady to her car, stared at 
this other passenger in some surprise. 

‘‘ Which way to the sea ? ” Hamel asked. 

The man pointed to the white gates of the crossing. 

“ You can take any of those paths you like, sir,” 
he said. “ If you want to get to Salthouse, though, 
you should have got out at the next station.” 

“ This will do for me,” Hamel replied cheerfully. 

“ Be careful of the dikes,” the station-master ad- 
vised him. Some of them are pretty deep.” 

Hamel nodded, and passing through the white 
gates, made his way by a raised cattle track towards 
the sea. On either side of him flowed a narrow dike 
filled with salt-water. Beyond stretched the flat 
marshland, its mossy turf leavened with cracks and 
creeks of all widths, filled also with sea-slime and sea- 
water. A slight grey mist rested upon the more dis- 
tant parts of the wilderness which he was crossing, 
a mist which seemed to be blown in from the sea in 
little puffs, resting for a time upon the earth, and then 
drifting up and fading away like soap bubbles. 


THE VANISHED MESSENGER 93 

More than once where the dikes had overflown he 
was compelled to change his course, but he arrived 
at last at the little ridge of pebbled beach bordering 
the sea. Straight ahead of him now was that strange- 
looking building towards which he had all the time 
been directing his footsteps. As he approached it, his 
forehead slightly contracted. There was ample con- 
firmation before him of the truth of his fellow-pas- 
senger’s words. The place, left to itself for so many 
years, without any attention from its actual owner, 
was neither deserted nor in ruins. Its solid grey 
stone walls were sea-stained and a trifle worn, but 
the arched wooden doors leading into the lifeboat 
shelter, which occupied one side of the building, had 
been newly painted, and in the front the window was 
hung with a curtain, now closely drawn, of some dark 
red material. The lock from the door had been re- 
moved altogether, and in its place was the aperture 
for a Yale latch-key. The last note of modernity 
was supplied by the telephone wire attached to the 
roof of the lifeboat shelter. He walked all round 
the building, seeking in vain for some other means 
of ingress. Then he stood for a few moments in 
front of the curtained window. He was a man of 
somewhat determined disposition, and he found him- 
self vaguely irritated by the liberties which had been 
taken with his property. He hammered gently upon 
the framework with his fist, and the windows opened 
readily inwards, pushing back the curtain with them. 
He drew himself up on to the sill, and, squeezing him- 
self through the opening, landed on his feet and 
looked around him, a little breathless. 

He found himself in a simply furnished man’s sit- 


94 THE VANISHED MESSENGER 

ting-room. An easel was standing close to the win- 
dow. There were reams of drawing paper and several 
unfinished sketches leaning against the wall. There 
was a small oak table in the middle of the room; 
against the wall stood an exquisite chiffonier, on which 
were resting some cut-glass decanters and goblets. 
There was a Turkey carpet upon the floor which 
matched the curtains, but to his surprise there was 
not a single chair of any sort to be seen. The walls 
had been distempered and were hung with one or two 
engravings which, although he was no judge, he was 
quite sure were good. He wandered into the back 
room, where he found a stove, a tea-service upon a 
deal table, and several other cooking utensils, all spot- 
lessly clean and of the most expensive description. 
The walls here were plainly whitewashed, and the floor 
was of hard stone. He then tried the door on the 
left, which led into the larger portion of the building 
— the shed in which the lifeboat had once been kept. 
Not only was the door locked, but he saw at once 
that the lock was modem, and the door itself was 
secured with heavy iron clamps. He returned to the 
sitting-room. 

“ The girl with the grey eyes was right enough,” 
he remarked to himself. “ Mr. Fentolin has been 
making himself very much at home with my prop- 
' erty.” 

j He withdrew the curtains, noticing, to his surprise, 

I the heavy shutters which their folds had partly con- 
I cealed. Then he made his way out along the passage 
to the front door, which from the inside he was able 
to open easily enough. Leaving it carefully ajar, he 
went out with the intention of making an examination 


THE VANISHED MESSENGER . 95 

of the outside of the place. Instead, however, he 
paused at the comer of the building with his face 
turned landwards. Exactly fronting him now, about 
three-quarters of a mile away, on the summit of that 
strange hill which stood out like a gigantic rock 
in the wilderness, was St. David’s Hall. He looked 
at it steadily and with increasing admiration. Its 
long, red brick front with its masses of clustering 
chimneys, a little bare and weather-beaten. Impressed 
him with a sense of dignity due as much to the purity 
of its architecture as the singularity of its situation. 
Behind — a wonderfully effective background — were 
the steep gardens from which, even in this uncertain 
light, he caught faint glimpses of colouring subdued 
from brilliancy by the twilight. These were encir- 
cled by a brick wall of great height, the whole of 
the southern portion of which was enclosed with glass. 
From the fragment of rock upon which he had seated 
himself, to the raised stone terrace in front of the 
house, was an absolutely straight path, beautifully 
kept like an avenue, with white posts on either side, 
and built up to a considerable height above the broad 
tidal way which ran for some distance by its side. 
It had almost the appearance of a racing track, and 
its state of preservation in the midst of the wilderness 
was little short of remarkable. 

“ This,” Hamel said to himself, as he slowly pro- 
duced a pipe from his pocket and began to fill it with 
tobacco from a battered silver box, “ is a queer fix. 
Looks rather like the inn for me ! ” 

“ And who might you be, gentleman ” 

He turned abruptly around towards his unseen 
questioner. A woman wa9 standing by the side of 


96 THE VANISHED MESSENGER 

the rock upon which he was sitting, a woman from the 
village, apparently, who must have come with noise- 
less footsteps along the sandy way. She was dressed 
in rusty black, and in place of a hat she wore a black 
woolen scarf tied around her head and underneath 
her chin. Her face was lined, her hair of a deep 
brown plentifully besprinkled with grey. She had a 
curious habit of moving her lips, even when she was 
not speaking. She stood there smiling at him, but 
there was something about that smile and about her 
look which puzzled him. 

“ I am just a visitor,” he replied. “ Who are 
you ? ” 

She shook her head. 

“ I saw you come out of the Tower,” she said, 
speaking with a strong local accent and yet with a 
certain unusual correctness, “ in at the window and 
out of the door. You’re a brave man.” 

“ Why brave ? ” he asked. 

She turned her head very slowly towards St. David’s 
Hall. A gleam of sunshine had caught one of the 
windows, which shone like fire. She pointed towards 
it with her head. 

“ He’s looking at you,” she muttered. “ He don’t 
like strangers poking around here, that I can tell 
you.” 

‘‘ And who is he ? ” Hamel enquired. 

“ Squire Fentolin,” she answered, dropping her 
voice a little. “ He’s a very kind-hearted gentleman. 
Squire Fentolin, but he don’t like strangers hanging 
around.” 

“ Well, I am not exactly a stranger, you see,” 
Hamel remarked. “My father used to stay for 


THE VANISHED MESSENGER 97 

months at a time in that little shanty there and paint 
pictures. It’s a good many years ago.” 

“ I mind him,” the woman said slowly. “ His name 
was Hamel.” 

“ I am his son,” Hamel announced. 

She pointed to the Hall. ‘‘ Does he know that you 
are here.^ ” 

Hamel shook his head. “ Not yet. I have been 
abroad for so long.” 

She suddenly relapsed into her curious habit. Her 
lips moved, but no words came. She had turned her 
head a little and was facing the sea. 

“ Tell me,” Hamel asked gently, ‘‘ why do you 
come out here alone, so far from the village? ” 

She pointed with her finger to where the waves were 
breaking in a thin line of white, about fifty yards 
from the beach. 

“ It’s the cemetery, that,” she said, “ the village 
cemetery, you know. I have three buried there: 
George, the eldest ; James, the middle one ; and David, 
the youngest. Three of them — that’s why I come. 
I can’t put flowers on their graves, but I can sit and 
watch and look through the sea, down among the 
rocks where their bodies are, and wonder.” 

Hamel looked at her curiously. Her voice had 
grown lower and lower. 

“ It’s what you land folks don’t believe, perhaps,” 
she went on, “ but it’s true. It’s only us who live 
near the sea who understand it. I am not an igno- 
rant body, either. I was schoolmistress here before 
I married David Cox. They thought I’d done wrong 
to marry a fisherman, but I bore him brave sons, 
and I lived the life a woman craves for. No, I am not 


98 THE VANISHED MESSENGER 

ignorant. I have fancies, perhaps — the Lord be 
praised for them! — and I tell you it’s true. You 
look at a spot in the sea and you see nothing — a 
gleam of blue, a fleck of white foam, one day ; a gleam 
of green with a black line, another ; and a grey little 
sob, the next, perhaps. But you go on looking. 
You look day by day and hour by hour, and the 
chasms of the sea will open, and their voices will 
come to you. Listen 1 ” 

She clutched his arm. 

“ Couldn’t you hear that ? ” she half whispered. 

‘ The light 1 ’ It was David’s voice ! ‘ The light I ’ ” 

Hamel was speechless. The woman’s face was sud- 
denly strangely transformed. Her mood, however, 
swiftly changed. She turned once more towards the 
hall. 

‘‘ You’ll know him soon,” she went on, “ the kindest 
man in these parts, they say. It’s not much that 
he gives away, but he’s a kind heart. You see that 
great post at the entrance to the river there ? ” she 
went on, pointing to it. “ He had that set up and 
a lamp hung from there. Fentolin’s light, they call 
it. It was to save men’s lives. It was burning, they 
say, the night I lost my lads. Fentolin’s light 1 ” 

“ They were wrecked.^ ” he asked her gently. 

Wrecked,” she answered. “ Bad steering it must 
have been. James would steer, and they say that he 
drank a bit. Bad steering! Yes, you’ll meet Squire 
Fentolin before long. He’s queer to look at — a 
small body but a great, kind heart. A miserable life, 
his, but it will be made up to him. It will be made 
up to him ! ” 

She turned away. Her lips were moving all the 


THE VANISHED MESSENGER gg 

time. She walked about a dozen steps, and then she 
returned. 

“ You’re Hamel’s son, the painter,” she said. 
“ You’ll be welcome down here. He’ll have you to 
stay at the Hall — a brave place. Don’t let him be 
too kind to you. Sometimes kindness hurts.” 

She passed on, walking with a curious, shambling 
gait, and soon she disappeared on her way to the 
village. Hamel watched her for a moment and then 
turned his head towards St. David’s Hall. He felt 
somehow that her abrupt departure was due to some- 
thing which she had seen in that direction. He rose 
to his feet. His instinct had been a true one. 


CHAPTER Xn 


From where Hamel stood a queer object came 
strangely into sight. Below the terrace of St. 
David’s Hall — from a spot, in fact, at the base of 
the solid wall — it seemed as though a gate had been 
opened, and there came towards him what he at first 
took to be a tricycle. As it came nearer, it presented 
even a weirder appearance. Mr. Fentolin, in a black 
cape and black skull cap, sat a little forward in his 
electric carriage, with his hand upon the guiding 
lever. His head came scarcely above the back of the 
little vehicle, his hands and body were motionless. 
He seemed to be progressing without the slightest ef- 
fort, personal or mechanical, as though he rode, in- 
deed, in some ghostly vehicle. From the same place 
in the wall had issued, a moment or two later, a man 
upon a bicycle, who was also coming towards him. 
Hamel was scarcely conscious of this secondary fig- 
ure. His eyes were fixed upon the strange personage 
now rapidly approaching him. There was something 
which seemed scarcely human in that shrunken frag- 
ment of body, the pale face with its waving white hair, 
the strange expression with which he was being re- 
garded. The little vehicle came to a standstill only a 
few feet away. Mr. Fentolin leaned forward. His 
features had lost their delicately benevolent aspect; 
his words were minatory. 

‘‘ I am under the impression, sir,” he said, “ that 


THE VANISHED MESSENGER loi 


I saw you with my glasses from the window, 
attempting to force an entrance into that build- 
ing.” 

Hamel nodded. 

“ I not only tried but I succeeded,” he remarked. 
“ I got in through the window.” 

Mr. Fentolin’s eyes glittered for a moment. Hamel, 
who had resumed his place upon the rock close at 
hand, had been mixed up during his lifetime in many 
wild escapades. Yet at that moment he had a sudden 
feeling that there were dangers in life which as yet 
he had not faced. 

“ May I ask for your explanation or your ex- 
cuse ? ” 

“ You can call it an explanation or an excuse, 
whichever you like,” Hamel replied steadily, “ but the 
fact is that this little building, which some one else 
seems to have appropriated, is mine. If I had not 
been a good-natured person, I should be engaged, at 
the present moment, in turning out its furniture on 
to the beach.” 

‘‘ What is your name ? ” Mr. F entolin asked sud- 
denly. 

‘‘ My name is Hamel — Richard Hamel.” 

For several moments there was silence. Mr. Fen- 
tolin was still leaning forward in his strange little ve- 
hicle. The colour seemed to have left even his lips. 
The hard glitter in his eyes had given place to an 
expression almost like fear. He looked at Richard 
Hamel as though he were some strange sea-monster 
come up from underneath the sands. 

“ Richard Hamel,” he repeated. “ Do you mean 
that you are the son of Hamel, the R.A., who used 


102 THE VANISHED MESSENGER 


to be in these parts so often? He was my brother’s 
friend.” 

“ I am his son.” 

“ But his son was killed in the San Francisco earth- 
quake. I saw his name in all the lists. It was 
copied into the local papers here.” 

Hamel knocked the ashes from his pipe. 

“ I take a lot of killing,” he observed. “ I was in 
that earthquake, right enough, and in the hospital 
afterwards, but it was a man named Hamel of Phil- 
adelphia who died.” 

Mr. Fentolin sat quite motionless for several mo^ 
ments. He seemed, if possible, to have shrunken 
into something smaller still. A few yards behind, 
Meekins had alighted from his bicycle and was stand- 
ing waiting. 

“ So you are Richard Hamel,” Mr. Fentolin said 
at last very softly. “ Welcome back to England, 
Richard Hamel! I knew your father slightly, al- 
though we were never very friendly.” 

He stretched out his hand from underneath the 
coverlet of his little vehicle — a hand with long, white 
fingers, slim and white and shapely as a woman’s. A 
single ring with a duU green stone was on his fourth 
finger. Hamel shook hands with him as he would 
have shaken hands with a woman. Afterwards he 
rubbed his fingers slowly together. There was some- 
thing about the touch which worried him. 

“ You have been making use of this little shanty, 
haven’t you ? ” he asked bluntly. 

Mr. Fentolin nodded. He was apparently begin- 
ning to recover himself. 

“ You must remember,” he explained suavely, “ that 


THE VANISHED MESSENGER 103 

it was built by my grandfather, and that we have 
had rights over the whole of the foreshore here from 
time immemorial. I know quite well that my brother 
gave it to your father — or rather he sold it to him 
for a nominal sum. I must tell you that it was a most 
complicated transaction. He had the greatest dif- 
ficulty in getting an^lawyer to draft the deed of sale. 
There were so many ancient rights and privileges 
which it was impossible to deal with. Even now there 
are grave doubts as to the validity of the transaction. 
When nothing was heard of you, and we all concluded 
that you were dead, I ventured to take back what I 
honestly believed to be my own. Owing,” he con- 
tinued slowly, “ to my unfortunate affliction, I am 
obliged to depend for interest in my life upon various 
hobbies. This little place, queerly enough, has be- 
come one of them. I have furnished it, in a way; 
installed the telephone to the house, connected it with 
my electric plant, and I come down here when I want 
to be quite alone, and paint. I watch the sea — such 
a sea sometimes, such storms, such colour! You no- 
tice that ridge of sand out yonder ? It forms a sort of 
natural breakwater. Even on the calmest day you 
can trace that white line of foam.” 

“ It is a strange coast,” Hamel admitted. 

Mr. Fentolin pointed with his forefinger north- 
wards. 

“ Somewhere about there,” he indicated, “ is the 
entrance to the tidal river which flows up to the vil- 
lage of St. David’s yonder. You see.? ” 

His finger traced its course until it came to a cer- 
tain point near the beach, where a tall black pillar 
stood, surmounted by a globe. 


104 the VA-NISHED MESSENGER 

“ I have had a light fixed there for the benefit of 
the fishermen,” he said, ‘‘ a light which I work from 
my own dynamo. Between where we are sitting now 
and there — only a little way out to sea — is a 
jagged cluster of cruel rocks. You can see them if 
you care to swim out in calm weather. Fishermen 
who tried to come in by night were often trapped 
there and, in a rough sea, drowned. That is why I 
had that pillar of light built. On stormy nights it 
shows the exact entrance to the water causeway.” 

“ Very kind of you indeed,” Hamel remarked, 
“ very benevolent.” 

Mr. Fentolin sighed. 

“ So few people have any real feeling for sailors,” 
he continued. ‘‘ The fishermen around here are cer- 
tainly rather a casual class. Do you know that there 
is scarcely one of them who can swim? There isn’t 
one of them who isn’t too lazy to learn even the sim- 
plest stroke. My brother used to say — dear Gerald 
— that it served them right if they were drowned. I 
have never been able to feel like that, Mr. Hamel. 
Life is such a wonderful thing. One night,” he went 
on, dropping his voice and leaning a little forward in 
his carriage — “ it was just before, or was it just after 
I had fixed that light — I was down here one dark 
winter night. There was a great north wind and a 
huge sea running. It was as black as pitch, but I 
heard a boat making for St. David’s causeway strike 
on those rocks just hidden in front there. I heard 
those fishermen shriek as they went under. I heard 
their shouts for help, I heard their death cries. Very 
terrible, Mr. Hamel ! Very terrible ! ” 

Hamel looked at the speaker curiously. Mr. Fen- 


THE VANISHED MESSENGER 105 

tolin seemed absorbed in his subject. He had spoken 
with relish, as one who loves the things he speaks 
about. Quite unaccountably, Hamel found himself 
shivering. 

“ It was their mother,” Mr. Fentolin continued, 
leaning again a little forward in his chair, “ their 
mother whom I saw pass along the beach just now — 
a widow, too, poor thing. She comes here often — 
a morbid taste. She spoke to you, I think ” 

“ She spoke to me strangely,” Hamel admitted. 
“ She gave me the impression of a woman whose brain 
had been turned with grief.” 

“ Too true,” Mr. Fentolin sighed. “ The poor 
creature ! I offered her a small pension, but she would 
have none of it. A superior woman in her way once, 
filled now with queer fancies,” he went on, eyeing 
Hamel steadily, — “ the very strangest fancies. She 
spends her life prowling about here. No one in the 
village even knows how she lives. Did she speak of 
me, by-the-by ? ” 

“ She spoke of you as being a very kind-hearted 
man.” 

Mr. Fentolin sighed. 

“ The poor creature ! Well, well, let us revert to 
the object of your coming here. Do you really wish 
to occupy this little shanty, Mr. Hamel ” 

“ That was my idea,” Hamel confessed. “ I only 
came back from Mexico last month, and I very soon 
got fed up with life in town. I am going abroad 
again next year. Till then, I am rather at a loose 
end. My father was always very keen indeed about 
this place, and very anxious that I should come and 
stay here for a little time, so I made up my mind to 


io6 THE VANISHED MESSENGER 

run down. I’ve got some things waiting at Norwich. 
I thought I might hire a woman to look after me and 
spend a few weeks here. They tell me that the early 
spring is almost the best time for this coast.” 

Mr. Fentolin nodded slowly. He moistened liis lips 
for a moment. One might have imagined that he was 
anxious. 

“ Mr. Hamel,” he said softly, “ you are quite right. 
It is the best time to visit this coast. But why make 
a hermit of yourself You are a family friend. 
Come and stay with us at the Hall for as long as 
you like. It will give me the utmost pleasure to wel- 
come you there,” he went on earnestly, “ and as for 
this little place, of what use is it to you.^^ Let me 
buy it from you. You are a man of the world, I can 
see. You may be rich, yet money has a definite value. 
To me it has none. That little place, as it stands, is 
probably worth — say a hundred pounds. Your 
father gave, if I remember rightly, a five pound note 
for it. I will give you a thousand for it sooner than 
be disturbed.” 

Hamel frowned slightly. 

“ I could not possibly think,” he said, “ of selling 
what was practically a gift to my father. You are 
welcome to occupy the place during my absence in 
any way you wish. On the other hand, I do not think 
that I care to part with it altogether, ^ind I should 
really like to spend just a day or so here. I am used 
to roughing it under all sorts of conditions — much 
more used to roughing it than I am to staying at 
country houses.” 

Mr. Fentolin leaned a little out of his carriage. He 
reached the younger man’s shoulder with his hand. 


THE VANISHED MESSENGER 107 

“ Ah ! Mr. Hamel,” he pleaded, “ don’t make up 
your mind too suddenly. Am I a little spoilt, I 
wonder? Well, you see what sort of a creature I 
am. I have to go through life as best I may, and peo- 
ple are kind to me. It is very seldom I am crossed. 
It is quite astonishing how often people let me have 
my own way. Do not make up your mind too sud- 
denly. I have a niece and a nephew whom you must 
meet. There are some treasures, too, at St. David’s 
Hall. Look at it. There isn’t another house quite 
like it in England. It is worth looking over.” 

“ It is most impressive,” Hamel agreed, and 
wonderfully beautiful. It seems odd,” he added, with 
a laugh, “ that you should care about this little shanty 
here, with all the beautiful rooms you must have of 
your own.” 

“ It’s Naboth’s vineyard,” Mr. Fentolin groaned. 
“ Now, Mr. Hamel, you are going to be gracious, 
aren’t you? Let us leave the question of your little 
habitation here alone for the present. Come back 
with me. My niece shall give you some tea, and 
you shall choose your room from forty. You can 
sleep in a haunted chamber, or a historical chamber, 
in Queen Elizabeth’s room, a Victorian chamber, or 
a Louis Quinze room. All my people have spent 
their substance in furniture. Don’t look at your 
bag. Clothes are unnecessary. I can supply you 
with everything. Or, if you prefer it, I can send a 
fast car into Norwich for your own things. Come 
and be my guest, please.” 

Hamel hesitated. He had not the slightest desire 
to go to St. David’s Hall, and though he strove to 
ignore it, he was conscious of an aversion of which 


io8 THE VANISHED MESSENGER 

he was heartily ashamed for this strange fragment of 
humanity. On the other hand, his mission, the ac- 
tual mission which had brought him down to these 
parts, could certainly best be served by an entree 
into the Hall itself — and there was the girl, whom 
he felt sure belonged there. He had never for a 
moment been able to dismiss her from his thoughts. 
Her still, cold face, the delicate perfection of her 
clothes and figure, the grey eyes which had rested 
upon his so curiously, haunted him. He was des- 
perately anxious to see her again. If he refused 
this invitation, if he rejected Mr. Fentolin’s proffered 
friendship, it would be all the more difficult. 

‘‘ You are really very kind,” he began hesita- 
tingly — 

“ It is settled,” Mr. Fentolin interrupted, set- 
tled. Meekins, you can ride back again. I shall 
not paint to-day. Mr. Hamel, you will walk by my 
side, will you not.?* I can run my little machine 
quite slowly. You see, I have an electric battery. 
It needs charging often, but I have a dynamo of my 
own. You never saw a vehicle like this in all your 
travellings, did you.? ” 

Hamel shook his head. 

“ An electrical bath-chair,” Mr. Fentolin con- 
tinued. “ Practice has made me remarkably skil- 
ful in its manipulation. You see, I can steer to an 
inch.” 

He was already turning around. Hamel rose to 
his feet. 

‘‘ You are really very kind,” he said. “ I should 
like to come up and see the Hall, at any rate, but in 
the meantime, as we are here, could I just look over 


THE VANISHED MESSENGER 109 

the inside of this little place? I found the large 
shed where the lifeboat used to be kept, locked up.” 

Mr. Fentolin was manoeuvring his carriage. His 
back was towards Hamel. 

“ By all means,” he declared. “ We will go in 
together. I have had the entrance widened so that 
I can ride straight into the sitting-room. But 
wait.” 

He paused suddenly. He felt in all his pockets. 

Dear me,” he exclaimed, I find that I have left 
the keys! We will come down a little later, if you 
do not mind, Mr. Hamel. Or to-morrow, perhaps. 
You will not mind? It is very careless of me, but 
seeing you about the place and imagining that you 
were an intruder, made me angry, and I started off in 
a hurry. Now walk by my side up to the house, 
please, and talk to me. It is so interesting for me 
to meet men,” he went on, as they started along the 
straight path, “ who do things in life ; who go to for- 
eign countries, meet strange people, and have new ex- 
periences. I have been a good many years like this, 
you know.” 

“ It is a great affliction,” Hamel murmured sym- 
pathetically. 

“ In my youth I was an athlete,” Mr. Fentolin con- 
tinued. ‘‘ I played cricket for the Varsity and for 
my county. I hunted, too, and shot. I did all the 
things a man loves to do. I might still shoot, they 
tell me, but my strength has ebbed away. I am too 
weak to lift a gun, too weak even to handle a fishing- 
rod. I have just a few hobbies in life which keep me 
alive. Are you a politician, Mr. Hamel? ” 

“ Not in the least,” Hamel replied. “ I have been 


no THE VANISHED MESSENGER 

out of England too long to keep in touch with poli- 
tics.” 

‘‘ Naturally,” Mr. Fentolin agreed. “ It amuses 
me to follow the course of events. I have a good 
many friends in London and abroad who are kind to 
me, who keep me informed, send me odd bits of infor- 
mation not available for every one, and it amuses me 
to put these things together in my mind and to try 
and play the prophet. I was in the Foreign Office 
once, you know. I take up my paper every morning, 
and it is one of my chief interests to see how near 
my own speculations come to the truth. Just now, 
for example, there are strange things doing on the 
Continent.” 

“ In America,” Hamel remarked, “ they affect to 
look upon England as a doomed Power.” 

“ Not altogether supine yet,” Mr. Fentolin ob- 
served, “ yet even this last generation has seen a 
weakening. We have lost so much self-reliance. 
Perhaps it is having these grown-up children who we 
think can take care of us — Canada and Australia, 
and the others. However, we will not talk of poli- 
tics. It bores you, I can see. We will try and 
find some other subject. Now tell me, don’t you 
think this is ingenious ? ” 

They had reached the foot of the hill upon which 
the Hall was situated. In front of them, under- 
neath the terrace, was a little iron gate, held open 
now by Meekins, who had gone on ahead and dis- 
mounted from his bicycle. 

“ I have a subterranean way from here into the 
Hall,” Mr. Fentolin explained. ‘‘ Come with me. 
You will only have to stoop a little, and it may 


THE VANISHED MESSENGER iii 


amuse you. You need not be afraid. There are 
electric lights every ten yards. I turn them on with 
this switch — see.” 

Mr. Fentolin touched a button in the wall, and 
the place was at once brilliantly illuminated. A little 
row of lights from the ceiling and the walls stretched 
away as far as one could see. They passed through 
the iron gates, which shut behind them with a click. 
Stooping a little, Hamel was still able to walk by the 
side of the man in the chair. They traversed about 
a hundred yards of subterranean way. Here and 
there a fungus hung down from the wall, otherwise 
it was beautifully kept and dry. By and by, with a 
little turn, they came to an incline and another iron 
gate, held open for them by a footman. Mr. Fen- 
tolin sped up the last few feet into the great hall, 
which seemed more imposing than ever by reason of 
this unexpected entrance. Hamel, blinking a little, 
stepped to his side. 

“Welcome!” Mr. Fentolin cried gaily, “Wel- 
come, my friend Mr. Hamel, to St. David’s Hall ! ” 


CHAPTER XIII 


During the next half-hour, Hamel was introduced 
to luxuries to which, in a general way, he was en- 
tirely unaccustomed. One man-servant was busy pre- 
paring his bath in a room leading out of his sleeping 
apartment, while another brought him a choice of 
evening clothes and superintended his disrobing. 
Hamel, always observant, studied his surroundings 
with keen interest. He found himself in a queerly 
mixed atmosphere of luxurious modernity and stately 
antiquity. His four-poster, the huge couch at the 
foot of his bed, and all the furniture about the room, 
was of the Queen Anne period. The bathroom 
which communicated with his apartment was the latest 
triumph of the plumber’s art — a room with floor 
and walls of white tiles, the bath itself a little sunken 
and twice the ordinary size. He dispensed so far 
as he could with the services of the men and de- 
scended, as soon as he was dressed, into the hall. 
Meekins was waiting at the bottom of the stairs, 
dressed now in somber black. 

“ Mr. Fentolin will be glad if you will step into his 
room, sir,” he announced, leading the way. 

Mr. Fentolin was seated in his chair, reading the 
Times in a corner of his library. Shaped blocks 
had been placed behind and in front of the wheels of 
his little vehicle, to prevent it from moving. A 
shaded reading-lamp stood on the table by his side. 


THE VANISHED MESSENGER 113 

He did not at once look up, and Hamel glanced 
around with genuine admiration. The shelves which 
lined the walls and the winged cases which protruded 
into the room were filled with books. There was a 
large oak table with beautifully carved legs, piled with 
all sorts of modem reviews and magazines. A log 
fire was burning in the big oaken grate. The per- 
fume from a great bowl of lavender seemed to mingle 
curiously yet pleasantly with the half musty odour 
of the old leather-bound volumes. The massive chim- 
neypiece was of black oak, and above it were carved 
the arms of the House of Fentolin. The walls were 
oak-panelled to the ceiling. 

‘‘ Refreshed, I hope, by your bath and change, my 
dear visitor.?* ” the head of the house remarked, as he 
laid down his paper. ‘‘ Draw a chair up here and 
join me in a glass of vermouth. You need not be 
afraid of it. It comes to me from the maker as a 
special favour.” 

Hamel accepted a quaintly-cut wine-glass full of 
the amber liquid. Mr. Fentolin sipped his with the 
air of a connoisseur. 

“ This,” he continued, “ is one of our informal 
days. There is no one in the house save my sister-in- 
law, niece, and nephew, and a poor invalid gentleman 
who, I am sorry to say, is confined to his bed. My 
sister-in-law is also, I regret to say, indisposed. She 
desired me to present her excuses to you and say how 
greatly she is looking forward to making your ac- 
quaintance during the next few days.” 

Hamel bowed. 

‘‘ It is very kind of Mrs. Fentolin,” he murmured. 

“ On these occasions,” Mr. Fentolin continued, “ we 


II4 THE VANISHED MESSENGER 

do not make use of a drawing-room. My niece will 
come in here presently. You are looking at my 
books, I see. Are you, by any chance, a bibliophile? 
I have a case of manuscripts here which might interest 
you.” 

Hamel shook his head. 

“ Only in the abstract, I fear,” he answered. “ I 
have scarcely opened a serious book since I was at 
Oxford.” 

“ What was your year ? ” Mr. Fentolin asked. 

“ Fourteen years ago I left Magdalen,” Hamel re- 
plied. “ I had made up my mind to be an engineer, 
and I went over to the Boston Institute of Tech- 
nology.” 

Mr. Fentolin nodded appreciatively. 

“ A magnificent profession,” he murmured. “ A 
healthy one, too, I should judge from your appear- 
ance. You are a strong man, Mr. Hamel.” 

“ I have had reason to be,” Hamel rejoined. Dur- 
ing nearly the whole of the time I have been abroad, I 
have been practically pioneering. Building railways 
in the far West, with gangs of Chinese and Italians 
and Hungarians and scarcely a foreman who isn’t 
terrified of his job, isn’t exactly drawing-room work.” 

“ You are going back there? ” Mr. Fentolin asked, 
with interest. 

Hamel shook his head. 

‘‘ I have no plans,” he declared. “ I have been 
fortunate enough, or shall I some day say unfortu- 
nate enough, I wonder, to have inherited a large leg- 
acy.” 

Mr. Fentolin smiled. 

“ Don’t ever doubt your good fortune,” he said 


THE VANISHED MESSENGER 115 

earnestly. “ The longer I live — and in my limited 
way I do see a good deal of life — the more I appre- 
ciate the fact that there isn’t anything in this world 
that compares with the power of money. I distrust 
a poor man. He may mean to be honest, but he is 
at all times subject to temptation. Ah! here is my 
niece.” 

Mr. Fentolin turned towards the door. Hamel 
rose at once to his feet. His surmise, then, had been 
correct. She was coming towards them very quietly. 
In her soft grey dinner-gown, her brown hair smoothly 
brushed bade, a pearl necklace around her long, deli- 
cate neck, she seemed to him a very exquisite embodi- 
ment of those memories which he had been carrying 
about throughout the afternoon. 

“ Here, Mr. Hamel,” his host said, “ is a member of 
my family who has been a deserter for a short time. 
This is Mr. Richard Hamel, Esther; my niece. Miss 
Esther Fentolin.” 

She held out her hand with the faintest possible 
smile, which might have been of greeting or recogni- 
tion. 

“ I travelled for some distance in the train with 
Mr. Hamel this afternoon, I think,” she remarked. 

“Indeed.^” Mr. Fentolin exclaimed. “Dear me, 
that is very interesting — very interesting, indeed! 
Mr. Hamel, I am sure, did not tell you of his destina- 
tion.? ” 

He watched them keenly. Hamel, though he 
scarcely understood, was quick to appreciate the pos- 
sible significance of that tentative question. 

“ We did not exchange confidences,” he observed. 
“ Miss Fentolin only changed into my carriage during 


ii6 THE VANISHED MESSENGER 

the last few minutes of her journey. Besides,” he 
continued, “ to tell you the truth, my ideas as to my 
destination were a little hazy. To come and look 
for some queer sort of building by the side of the sea, 
which has been unoccupied for a dozen years or so, 
scarcely seems a reasonable quest, does it? ” 

“ Scarcely, indeed,” Mr. Fentolin assented. “ You 
may thank me, Mr. Hamel, for the fact that the place 
is not in ruins. My blatant trespassing has saved 
you from that, at least. After dinner we must talk 
further about the Tower. To tell you the truth, 
I have grown accustomed to the use of the little 
place.” 

The sound of the dinner gong boomed through the 
house. A moment later Gerald entered, followed by 
a butler announcing dinner. 

“ The only remaining member of my family,” Mr. 
Fentolin remarked, indicating his nephew. “ Gerald, 
you will be pleased, I know, to meet Mr. Hamel. Mr. 
Hamel has been a great traveller. Long before you 
can remember, his father used to paint wonderful 
pictures of this coast.” 

Gerald shook hands with his visitor. His face, 
for a moment, lighted up. He was looking pale, 
though, and singularly sullen and dejected. 

“ There are two of your father’s pictures in the 
modern side of the gallery up-stairs,” he remarked, 
a little diffidently. ‘‘ They are great favourites with 
everybody here.” 

They all went in to dinner together. Meekins, who 
had appeared silently, had glided unnoticed behind his 
master’s chair and wheeled it across the hall. 

“ A pa/rtie carree to-night,” Mr. Fentolin declared. 


THE VANISHED MESSENGER 117 

“ I have a resident doctor here, a very delightful per- 
son, who often dines with us, but to-night I thought 
not. Five is an awkward number. I want to get 
to know you better, Mr. Hamel, and quickly. I want 
you, too, to make friends with my niece and nephew. 
Mr. Hamel’s father,” he went on, addressing the two 
latter, “ and your father were great friends. By-the- 
by, have I told you both exactly why Mr. Hamel is a 
guest here to-night — why he came to these parts at 
all.^ No.? Listen, then. He came to take posses- 
sion of the Tower. The worst of it is that it belongs 
to him, too. His father bought it from your father 
more years ago than we should care to talk about. 
I have really been a trespasser all this time.” 

They took their places at a small round table in 
the middle of the dining-room. The shaded lights 
thrown downwards upon the table seemed to leave 
most of the rest of the apartment in semi-darkness. 
The gloomy faces of the men and women whose pic- 
tures hung upon the walls were almost invisible. The 
servants themselves, standing a little outside the halo 
of light, were like shadows passing swiftly and noise- 
lessly back and forth. At the far end of the room 
was an organ, and to the left a little balcony, built 
out as though for an orchestra. Hamel looked about 
him almost in wonderment. There was something 
curiously impressive in the size of the apartment and 
its emptiness. 

“ A trespasser,” Mr. Fentolin continued, as he took 
up the menu and criticised it through his horn- 
rimmed eyeglass, “ that is what I have been, without 
a doubt.” 

“ But for your interest and consequent trespass,” 


ii8 THE VANISHED MESSENGER 

Hamel remarked, “ I should probably have found the 
roof off and the whole place in ruins.” 

“ Instead of which you found the door locked 
against you,” Mr. Fentolin pointed out. “ Well, we 
shall see. I might, at any rate, have lost the oppor- 
tunity of entertaining you here this evening. I am 
particularly glad to have an opportunity of making 
you known to my niece and nephew. I think you will 
agree with me that here are two young people who 
are highly to be commended. I cannot offer them a 
cheerful life here. There is little society, no gaiety, 
no sort of excitement. Yet they never leave me. 
They seem to have no other interest in life but to be 
always at my beck and call. A case, Mr. Hamel, 
of really touching devotion. If anything could recon- 
cile me to my miserable condition, it would be the kind- 
ness and consideration of those by whom I am sur- 
rounded.” 

Hamel murmured a few words of cordial agree- 
ment. Yet he found himself, in a sense, embarrassed. 
Gerald was looking down upon his plate and his face 
was hidden. Esther’s features had suddenly become 
stony and expressionless. Hamel felt instinctively 
that something was wrong. 

“ There are compensations,” Mr. Fentolin con- 
tinued, with the air of one enjoying speech, “ which 
find their way into even the gloomiest of lives. As I 
lie on my back, hour after hour, I feel all the more 
conscious of this. The world is a school of compensa- 
tions, Mr. Hamel. The interests — the mental in- 
terests, I mean — of unfortunate people like myself, 
come to possess in time a peculiar significance and to 
yield a peculiar pleasure. I have hobbies, Mr. Hamel. 


THE VANISHED MESSENGER iig 

I frankly admit it. Without my hobbies, I shudder to 
think what might become of me. I might become a 
selfish, cruel, misanthropical person. Hobbies are in- 
deed a great thing.” 

The brother and sister sat still in stony silence. 
Hamel, looking across the little table with its glitter- 
ing load of cut glass and silver and scarlet flowers, 
caught something in Esther’s eyes, so rarely expres- 
sive of any emotion whatever, which puzzled him. He 
looked swiftly back at his host. Mr. Fentolin’s face, 
at that moment, was like a beautiful cameo. His ex- 
pression was one of gentle benevolence. 

“ Let me be quite frank with you,” Mr. Fentolin 
murmured. “ My occupation of the Tower is one of 
these hobbies. I love to sit there within a few yards 
of the sea and watch the tide come in. I catch some- 
thing of the spirit, I think, which caught your father, 
Mr. Hamel, and kept him a prisoner here. In my 
small way I, too, paint while I am down there, paint 
and dream. These things may not appeal to you, but 
you must remember that there are few things left 
to me in life, and that those, therefore, which I can 
make use of, are dear to me. Gerald, you are silent 
to-night. How is it that you say nothing.? ” 

“ I am tired, sir,” the boy answered quietly. 

Mr. Fentolin nodded gravely. 

“ It is inexcusable of me,” he declared smoothly, “ to 
have forgotten even for a moment. My nephew, Mr. 
Hamel,” he went on, “had quite an exciting expe- 
rience last night — or rather a series of experiences. 
He was first of all in a railway accident, and then, 
for the sake of a poor fellow who was with him and 
who was badly hurt, he motored back here in the 


1^0 THE VANISHED MESSENGER 

grey hours of the morning and ran, they tell me, con- 
siderable risk of being drowned on the marshes. A 
very wonderful and praiseworthy adventure, I con- 
sider it. I trust that our friend up-stairs, when he 
recovers, will be properly grateful.” 

Gerald rose to his feet precipitately. The service 
of dinner was almost concluded, and he muttered some- 
thing which sounded like an excuse. Mr. Fentolin, 
however, stretched out his hand and motioned him to 
resume his seat. 

“ My dear Gerald ! ” he exclaimed reprovingly. 
“ You would leave us so abruptly.^ Before your sis- 
ter, too ! What will Mr. Hamel think of our country 
ways? Pray resume your seat.” 

For a moment the boy stood quite still, then he 
slowly subsided into his chair. Mr. Fentolin passed 
around a decanter of wine which had been placed upon 
the table by the butler. The servants had now left 
the room. 

“ You must excuse my nephew, if you please, Mr. 
Hamel,” he begged. “ Gerald has a boy’s curious 
aversion to praise in any form. I am looking forward 
to hearing your verdict upon my port. The col- 
lection of wine and pictures was a hobby of my grand- 
father’s, for which we, his descendants, can never be 
sufficiently grateful.” 

Hamel praised his wine, as indeed he had every 
reason to, but for a few moments the smooth conversa- 
tion of his host fell upon deaf ears. He looked from 
the boy’s face, pale and wrinkled as though with some 
sort of suppressed pain, to the girl’s still, stony ex- 
pression. This was indeed a house of mysteries! 
There was something here incomprehensible, some- 


THE VANISHED MESSENGER 121 

thing about the relations of these three and their 
knowledge of one another, utterly baffling. It was 
the queerest household, surely, into which any 
stranger had ever been precipitated. 

“ The planting of trees and the laying down of 
port are two virtues in our ancestors which have 
never been properly appreciated,” Mr. Fentolin con- 
tinued. “ Let us, at any rate, free ourselves from 
the reproach of ingratitude so far as regards my 
grandfather — Gerald Fentolin — to whom I believe 
we are indebted for this wine. We will drink — ” 

Mr. Fentolin broke off in the middle of his sentence. 
The august calm of the great house had been sud- 
denly broken. From up-stairs came the tumult of 
raised voices, the slamming of a door, the falling of 
something heavy upon the floor. Mr. Fentolin lis- 
tened with a grim change in his expression. His 
smile had departed, his lower lip was thrust out, 
his eyebrows met. He raised the little whistle which 
hung from his chain. At that moment, however, the 
door was opened. Doctor Sarson appeared. 

“ I am sorry to disturb you, Mr. Fentolin,” he said, 
“ but our patient is becoming a little difficult. The 
concussion has left him, as I feared it might, in a 
state of nervous excitability. He insists upon an 
interview with you.” 

Mr. Fentolin backed his little chair from the table. 
The doctor came over and laid his hand upon the 
handle. 

“ You will, I am sure, excuse me for a few mo- 
ments, Mr. Hamel,” his host begged. “ My niece 
and nephew will do their best to entertain you. Now, 
Sarson, I am ready.” 


122 THE VANISHED MESSENGER 

Mr. Fentolin glided across the dim, empty spaces 
of the splendid apartment, followed by the doctor; 
a ghostly little procession it seemed. The door was 
closed behind them. For a few moments a curious 
silence ensued. Gerald remained tense and appar- 
ently suifering from some sort of suppressed emo- 
tion. Esther for the first time moved in her place. 
She leaned towards Hamel. Her lips were slowly 
parted, her eyes sought the door as though in terror. 
Her voice, although save for themselves there was 
no one else in the whole of that great apartment, had 
sunk to the lowest of whispers. 

“ Are you a brave man, Mr. Hamel? ” she asked. 

He was staggered but he answered her promptly. 

“ I believe so.” 

“Don’t give up the Tower — just yet. That is 
what — he has brought you here for. He wants you 
to give it up and go back. Don’t ! ” 

The earnestness of her words was unmistakable. 
Hamel felt the thrill of coming events. 

“ Why^ not? ” 

“ Don’t ask me,” she begged. “ Only if you are 
brave, if you have feeling for others, keep the Tower, 
if it be for only a week. Hush ! ” 

The door had been noiselessly opened. The doc- 
tor appeared and advanced to the table with a 
grave little bow. 

“ Mr. Fentolin,” he said, “ has been kind enough 
to suggest that I take a glass of wine with you. 
My presence is not needed up-stairs. Mr. Hamel,” 
he added, “ I am glad, sir, to make your acquaint- 
ance. I have for a long time been a great admirer 
of your father’s work.” 


THE VANISHED MESSENGER 123 

He took his place at the head of the table and, fill- 
ing his glass, bowed towards Hamel. Once more Ger- 
ald and his sister relapsed almost automatically into 
an indifferent and cultivated silence. Hamel found 
civility towards the newcomer difficult. Uncon- 
sciously his attitude became that of the other two. 
He resented the intrusion. He found himself re- 
garding the advent of Doctor Sarson as possess- 
ing some secondary significance. It was almost as 
though Mr. Fentolin preferred not to leave him alone 
with his niece and nephew. 


CHAPTER XIV 


Mr. Fentolin, on leaving the dining-room, steered 
his chair with great precision through the open, 
wrought-iron doors of a small lift at the further end 
of the hall, which Doctor Sarson, who stepped in 
with him, promptly directed to the second floor. 
Here they made their way to the room in which Mr. 
Dunster was lying. Doctor Sarson opened the door 
and looked in. Almost immediately he stood at one 
side, out of sight of Mr. Dunster, and nodded to Mr. 
Fentolin. 

“ If there is any trouble,” he whispered, “ send 
for me. I am better away, for the present. My 
presence only excites him.” 

Mr. Fentolin nodded. 

You are right,” he said. ‘‘ Go down into the 
dining-room. I am not sure about that fellow Hamel, 
and Gerald is in a queer temper. Stay with them. 
See that they are not alone.” 

The doctor silently withdrew, and Mr. Fentolin 
promptly glided past him into the room. Mr. John 
P. Dunster, in his night clothes, was sitting on the 
side of the bed. Standing within a few feet of him, 
watching him all the time with the subtle intentness 
of a cat watching a mouse, stood Meekins. Mr. 
Dunster’s head was still bound, although the bandage 
had slipped a little, apparently in some struggle. 
His face was chalklike, and he was breathing quickly. 


THE VANISHED MESSENGER 125 

Nevertheless, his voice, when he spoke, was clear and 
firm. 

“ So you’ve come at last ! ” he exclaimed, a little 
truculently. “ Are you Mr. Fentolin ? ” 

Mr. Fentolin gravely admitted his identity. His 
eyes rested upon his guest with an air of tender in- 
terest. His face was almost beautiful. 

“ You are the owner of this house — I am under- 
neath your roof — is that so ? ” 

“ This is certainly St. David’s Hall,” Mr. Fentolin 
replied. “ It really appears as though your con- 
clusions were correct.” 

“ Then will you tell me why I am kept a prisoner 
here.? ” 

Mr. Fentolin’s expression was for a moment 
clouded. He seemed hurt. 

“ A prisoner,” he repeated softly. “ My dear Mr. 
Dunster, you have surely forgotten the circumstances 
which procured for me the pleasure of this visit ; the 
condition in which you arrived here — only, after all, 
a very few hours ago.? ” 

“ The circumstances,” Mr. Dunster declared drily, 
“ are to me still inexplicable. At Liverpool Street 
Station I was accosted by a young man who informed 
me that his name was Gerald Fentolin, and that he 
was on his way to The Hague to play in a golf tour- 
nament. His story seemed entirely probable, and I 
permitted him a seat in the special train I had char- 
tered for Harwich. There was an accident and I re- 
ceived this blow to my head — only a trifling affair, 
after all. I come to my senses to find myself here. I 
do not know exactly what part of the world you 
call this, but from the fact that I can see the sea from 


126 THE VANISHED MESSENGER 

my window, it must be some considerable distance 
from the scene of the accident. I find that my dress- 
ing-case has been opened, my pocket-book examined, 
and I am apparently a prisoner. I ask you, Mr. Fen- 
tolin, for an explanation.” 

Mr. Fentolin smiled reassuringly. 

“ My dear sir,” he said, “ my dear Mr. Dunster, 
I believe I may have the pleasure of calling you — 
your conclusions seem to me just a little melodramatic. 
My nephew — Gerald Fentolin — did what I con- 
sider the natural thing, under the circumstances. 
You had been courteous to him, and he repaid the 
obligation to the best of his ability. The accident 
to your train happened in a dreary part of the coun- 
try, some thirty miles from here. My nephew 
adopted a course which I think, under the circum- 
stances, was the natural and hospitable one. He 
brought you to his home. There was no hospital or 
town of any importance nearer.” 

“ Very well,” Mr. Dunster decided. “ I will ac- 
cept your version of the affair. I will, then, up to 
this point acknowledge myself your debtor. But 
will you tell me why my dressing-case has been opened, 
my clothes removed, and a pocket-book containing 
papers of great importance to me has been tampered 
with? ” 

“ My dear Mr. Dunster,” his host replied calmly, 
“ you surely cannot imagine that you are among 
thieves! Your dressing-case was opened and the 
contents of your pocket-book inspected with a 
view to ascertaining your address, or the names 
of some friends with whom we might 
cate.” 


communi- 


THE VANISHED MESSENGER 127 

“ Am I to understand that they are to be restored 
to me, then? ” Mr. Dunster demanded. 

“ Without a doubt, yes ! ” Mr. Fentolin assured 
him. “ You, however, are not fit for anything, at 
the present moment, but to return to your bed, from 
which I understand you rose rather suddenly a few 
minutes ago.” 

“ On the contrary,” Mr. Dunster insisted, “ I am 
feeling absolutely well enough to travel. I have an 
appointment on the Continent of great importance, as 
you may judge by the fact that at Liverpool Street I 
chartered a special train. I trust that nothing in my 
manner may have given you offence, but I am anx- 
ious to get through with the business which brought 
me over to this side of the water. I have sent for you 
to ask that my pocket-book, dressing-case, and clothes 
be at once restored to me, and that I be provided with 
the means of continuing my journey without a mo- 
ment’s further delay.” 

Mr. Fentolin shook his head very gently, very re- 
gretfully, but also firmly. 

“ Mr. Dunster,” he pleaded, “ do be reasonable. 
Think of all you have been through. I can quite 
sympathise with you in your impatience, but I am 
forced to tell you that the doctor who has been at- 
tending you since the moment you were brought into 
this house has absolutely forbidden anything of the 
sort.” 

Mr. Dunster seemed, for a moment, to struggle for 
composure. 

“ I am an American citizen,” he declared. “ I am 
willing to listen to the advice of any physician, but 
so long as I take the risk, I am not bound to follow it. 


128 THE VANISHED MESSENGER 

In the present case I decline to follow it. I ask for 
facilities to leave this house at once.” 

Mr. Fentolin sighed. 

“ In your own interests,” he said calmly, “ they 
will not be granted to you.” 

Mr. Dunster had spoken all the time like a man 
struggling to preserve his self-control. There were 
signs now that his will was ceasing to serve him. His 
eyes flashed fire, his voice was raised. 

“ Will not be granted to me.?* ” he repeated. “ Do 
you mean to say, then, that I am to be kept here 
against my will.? ” 

Mr. Fentolin made no immediate reply. With the 
delicate fingers of his right hand he pushed back the 
hair from his forehead. He looked at his questioner 
soothingly, as one might look at a spoiled child. 

“ Against my will? ” Mr. Dunster repeated, raising 
his voice still higher. “ Mr. Fentolin, if the truth 
must be told, I have heard of you before and been 
warned against you. I decline to accept any longer 
the hospitality of your roof. I insist upon leaving it. 
If you will not provide me with any means of doing 
so, I will walk.” 

He made a motion as though to rise from the bed. 
Meekins’ hand very gently closed upon his arm. One 
could judge that the grip was like a grip of iron. 

“ Dear me,” Mr. Fentolin said, “ this is really very 
unreasonable of you ! If you have heard of me, Mr. 
Dunster, you ought to understand that notwithstand- 
ing my unfortunate physical trouble, I am a person of 
consequence and position in this county. I am a 
magistrate, ex-high sheriff, and a great land-owner 
here. I think I may say without boasting that I 


THE VANISHED MESSENGER 129 

represent one of the most ancient families in this 
country. Why, therefore, should you treat me as 
though it were to my interest to inveigle you under 
my roof and keep you there for some guilty purpose? 
Cannot you understand that it is for your own good 
I hesitate to part with you? ” 

‘‘ I understand nothing of the sort,” Mr. Dunster 
exclaimed angrily. “ Let us bring this nonsense to 
an end. I want my clothes, and if you won’t lend 
me a car or a trap. I’ll walk to the nearest railway 
station.” 

Mr. Fentolin shook his head. 

“ I am quite sure,” he said, ‘‘ that you are not in a 
position to travel. Even in the dining-room just now 
I heard a disturbance for which I was told that you 
were responsible.” 

“ I simply insisted upon having my clothes,” Mr. 
Dunster explained. “ Your servant refused to fetch 
them. Perhaps I lost my temper. If so, I am sorry. 
I am not used to being thwarted.” 

‘‘ A few days’ rest — ” Mr. Fentolin began. 

A few days’ rest be hanged ! ” Mr. Dunster in- 
terrupted fiercely. “ Listen, Mr. Fentolin,” he added, 
with the air of one making a last effort to preserve 
his temper, “ the mission with which I am charged is 
one of greater importance than you can imagine. 
So much depends upon it that my own life, if that is 
in danger, would be a mere trifle in comparison with 
the issues involved. If I am not allowed to continue 
upon my journey at once, the consequences may 
be more serious than I can tell you, to you and yours, 
to your own country. There ! — I am telling you a 
great deal, but I want you to understand that I am 


130 THE VANISHED MESSENGER 

in earnest. I have a mission which I must perform, 
and which I must perform quickly.” 

“ You are very mysterious,” Mr. Fentolin mur- 
mured. 

“ I will leave nothing to chance,” Mr. Dunster con- 
tinued. ‘‘ Send this man who seems to have consti- 
tuted himself my jailer out of earshot, and I will tell 
you even more.” 

Mr. Fentolin turned to Meekins. 

“ You can leave the room for a moment,” he 
ordered. ‘‘ Wait upon the threshold.” 

Meekins very unwillingly turned to obey. 

“ You will excuse me, sir,” he objected doubtfully, 
“ but I am not at all sure that he is safe.” 

Mr. Fentolin smiled faintly. 

“ You need have no fear, Meekins,” he declared. 
“ I am quite sure that you are mistaken. I think 
that Mr. Dunster is incapable of any act of violence 
towards a person in my unfortunate position. I am 
willing to trust myself with him — perfectly willing, 
Meekins.” 

Meekins, with ponderous footsteps, left the room 
and closed the door behind him. Mr. Fentolin leaned 
a little forward in his chair. It seemed as though he 
were on springs. The fingers of his right hand had 
disappeared in the pocket of his black velvet dinner- 
coat. He was certainly prepared for all emergencies. 

“ Now, Mr. Dunster,” he said softly, “ you can 
speak to me without reserve.” 

Mr. Dunster dropped his voice. His tone became 
one of fierce eagerness. 

“ Look here,” he exclaimed, ‘‘ I don’t think you 
ought to force me to give myself away like this, but, 


THE VANISHED MESSENGER 131 

after all, you are an Englishman, with a stake in your 
country, and I presume you don’t want her to take a 
back seat for the next few generations. Listen here. 
It’s to save your country that I want to get to The 
Hague without a second’s delay. I tell you that if I 
don’t get there, if the message I convey doesn’t reach 
its destination, you may find an agreement signed 
between certain Powers which will mean the greatest 
diplomatic humiliation which Great Britain has ever 
known. Aye, and more than that ! ” Mr. Dunster 
continued. ‘‘ It may be that the bogey you’ve been 
setting before yourself for all these years may trot 
out into life, and you may find St. David’s Hall a 
barrack for German soldiers before many months have 
passed.” 

Mr. Fentolin shook his head in gentle disbelief. 

“ You are speaking to one,” he declared, “ who 
knows more of the political situation than you im- 
agine. In my younger days I was in the Foreign 
Office. Since my unfortunate accident I have pre- 
served the keenest interest in politics. I tell you 
frankly that I do not believe you. As the Powers 
are grouped at present, I do not believe in the pos- 
sibility of a successful invasion of this country.” 

‘‘ Perhaps not,” Mr. Dunster replied eagerly, “ but 
the grouping of the Powers as it has existed during 
the last few years is on the eve of a great change. 
I cannot take you wholly into my confidence. I can 
only give you my word of honour as a friend to your 
country that the message I carry is her only salva- 
tion. Having told you as much as that, I do not 
think I am asking too much if I ask you for my clothes 
and dressing-case, and for the fastest motor-car you 


132 THE VANISHED MESSENGER 

can furnish me with. I guess I can get from here to 
Yarmouth, and from there I can charter something 
which will take me to the other side.” 

Mr. Fentolin raised the little gold whistle to his 
lips and blew it very softly. Meekins at once entered, 
closing the door behind him. He moved silently to 
the side of the man who had risen now from the bed, 
and who was standing with his hand grasping the 
post and his eyes fixed upon Mr. Fentolin, as though 
awaiting his answer. 

“ Our conversation,” the latter said calmly, “ has 
reached a point, Mr. Dunster, at which I think we 
may leave it for the moment. You have told me some 
very surprising things. I perceive that you are a 
more interesting visitor even than I had thought.” 

He raised his left hand, and Meekins, who seemed 
to have been waiting for some signal of the sort, sud- 
denly, with a movement of his knee and right arm, 
flung Dunster back upon the bed. The man opened 
his mouth to shout, but already, with lightning-like 
dexterity, his assailant had inserted a gag between his 
teeth. Treating his struggles as the struggles of a 
baby, Meekins next proceeded to secure his wrists with 
handcuffs. He then held his feet together while he 
quietly wound a coil of cord around them. Mr. Fen- 
tolin watched the proceedings from his chair with an 
air of pleased and critical interest. 

Very well done, Meekins — very neatly done, in- 
deed ! ” he exclaimed. As I was saying, Mr. Dun- 
ster,” he continued, turning his chair, ‘‘ our conversa- 
tion has reached a point at which I think we may 
safely leave it for a time. We will discuss these 
matters again. Your pretext of a political mission 


THE VANISHED MESSENGER 133 

is, of course, an absurd one, but fortunately you have 
fallen into good hands. Take good care of Mr. Dun- 
ster, Meekins, I can see that he is a very important 
personage. We must be careful not to lose sight of 
him.” 

Mr. Fentolin steered his chair to the door, opened 

it, and passed out. On the landing he blew his whistle ; 
the lift almost immediately ascended. A moment or 
two later he glided into the dining-room. The three 
men were still seated around the table. A decanter 
of wine, almost empty, was before Doctor Sarson, 
whose pallid cheeks, however, were as yet unflushed. 

‘‘ At last, my dear guest,” Mr. Fentolin exclaimed, 
turning to Hamel, “ I am able to return to you. If 
you will drink no more wine, let us have our coffee 
in the library, you and I. I want to talk to you about 
the Tower.” 


CHAPTER XV 


Mr. Fentolin led the way to a delightful little corner 
of his library, where before the open grate, recently 
piled with hissing logs, an easy chair had been drawn. 
He wheeled himself up to the other side of the hearth- 
rug and leaned back with a little air of exhaustion. 
The butler, who seemed to have appeared unsummoned 
from somewhere among the shadows, served coffee and 
poured some old brandy into large and wonderfully 
thin glasses. 

“ Why my house should be turned into an asylum 
to gratify the hospitable instincts of my young 
nephew, I cannot imagine,” Mr. Fentolin grumbled. 
“ A most extraordinary person, our visitor, I can as- 
sure you. Quite violent, too, he was at first.” 

“ Have you had any outside advice about his con- 
dition ? ” Hamel inquired. 

Mr. Fentolin glanced across those few feet of space 
and looked at Hamel with swift suspicion. 

Why should I ? ” he asked. “ Doctor Sarson is 
fully qualified, and the case seems to present no un- 
usual characteristics.” 

Hamel sipped his brandy thoughtfully. 

“ I don’t know why I suggested it,” he admitted. 
“ I only thought that an outside doctor might help 
you to get rid of the fellow.” 

Mr. Fentolin shrugged his shoulders. 

“ After all,” he said, “ the matter is of no real con- 


THE VANISHED MESSENGER 135 

sequence. Doctor Sarson assures me that we shall 
be able to send him on his way very shortly. In the 
meantime, Mr. Hamel, what about the Tower? ” 

‘‘What about it?” Hamel asked, selecting a ci- 
gar from the box which had been pushed to his side. 
“ I am sure I haven’t any wish to inconvenience 
you.” 

“ I will be quite frank,” Mr. Fentolin declared. 
“ I do not dispute your right for a moment. On the 
other hand, my few hours daily down there have be- 
come a habit with me. I do not wish to give them 
up. Stay here with us, Mr. Hamel. You will be 
doing us a great kindness. My nephew and niece 
have too little congenial society. Make up your mind 
to give us a fortnight of your time, and I can assure 
you that we will do our best to make yours a pleasant 
stay.” 

Hamel was a little taken aback. 

“ Mr. Fentolin,” he said, “ I couldn’t think of ac- 
cepting your hospitality to such an extent. My idea 
in coming here was simply to fulfil an old promise to 
my father and to rough it at the Tower for a week 
or so, and when that was over, I don’t suppose I 
should ever be likely to come back again. You had 
better let me carry out that plan, and afterwards the 
place shall be entirely at your disposal.” 

“ You don’t quite understand,” Mr. Fentolin per- 
sisted, a little irritably. “ I sit there every morning. 
I want, for instance, to be there to-morrow morning, 
and the next morning, and the morning afterwards, 
to finish a little seascape I have commenced. Nowhere 
else will do. Call it a whim or what you will. I 
have begun the picture, and I want to finish it.” 


136 THE VANISHED MESSENGER 

“ Well, you can sit there all right,” Hamel as- 
sured him. “ I shall be out playing golf or fishing. 
I shall do nothing but sleep there.” 

“ And very uncomfortable you will be,” Mr. Fen- 
tolin pointed out. “ You have no servant, I under- 
stand, and there is no one in the village fit to look 
after you. Think of my thirty-nine empty rooms, 
my books here, my gardens, my motor-cars, my young 
people, entirely at your service. You can have a 
suite to yourself. You can disappear when you like. 
To all effects and purposes you wiH be the master of 
St. David’s Hall. Be reasonable. Don’t you think, 
now, that you can spend a fortnight more pleasantly 
under such circumstances than by playing the misan- 
thrope down at the Tower ? ” 

“ Please don’t think,” Hamel begged, “ that I 
don’t appreciate your hospitality. I should feel un- 
comfortable, however, if I paid you a visit of the 
length you have suggested. Come, I don’t see,” he 
added, “ why my occupation of the Tower should in- 
terfere with you. I should be away from it by about 
nine or ten o’clock every morning. I should prob- 
ably only sleep there. Can’t you accept the use of 
it all the rest of the time? I can assure you that 
you will be welcome to come and go as though it 
were entirely your own.” 

Mr. Fentolin had lit a cigarette and was watching 
the blue smoke curl upwards to the ceiling. 

‘‘ You’re an obstinate man, Mr. Hamel,” he sighed, 
“ but I suppose you must have your own way. By- 
the-by, you would only need to use the up-stairs 
room and the sitting-room. You will not need the 
outhouse — rather more than an outhouse, though, 


THE VANISHED MESSENGER 137 

isn’t it? I mean the shed which leads out from the 
kitchen, where the lifeboat used to be kept? ” 

“ I don’t think I shall need that,” Hamel admitted, 
a little hesitatingly. 

“To tell you the truth,” Mr. Fentolin continued, 
“ among my other hobbies I have done a little invent- 
ing. I work sometimes at a model there. It is fool- 
ish, perhaps, but I wish no one to see it. Do you 
mind if I keep the keys of the place ? ” 

“ Not in the least,” Hamel replied. “ Tell me, 
what direction do your inventions take, Mr. Fen- 
tolin? ” 

“ Before you go,” Mr. Fentolin promised, “ I will 
show you my little model at work. Until then we will 
not talk of it. Now come, be frank with me. Shall we 
exchange ideas for a little time? Will you talk of 
books? They are my daily friends. I have thou- 
sands of them, beloved companions on every side. 
Or will you talk of politics or travel? Or would you 
rather be frivolous with my niece and nephew ? That, 
I think, is Esther playing.” 

“ To be quite frank,” Hamel declared bluntly, “ I 
should like to talk to your niece.” 

Mr. Fentolin smiled as though amused. His 
amusement, however, was perfectly good-natured. 

“ If you will open this door,” he said, “ you will 
see another one exactly opposite to you. That is the 
drawing-room. You will find Esther there. Before 
you go, will you pass me the Quarterly Review? 
Thank you.” 

Hamel crossed the hall, opened the door of the 
room to which he had been directed, and made his 
way towards the piano. Esther was there, playing 


138 THE VANISHED MESSENGER 

softly to herself with eyes half closed. He came and 
stood by her side, and she stopped abruptly. Her 
eyes questioned him. Then her fingers stole once 
more over the keys, more softly still. 

“ I have just left your uncle,” Hamel said. “ He 
told me that I might come in here.” 

“Yes.?” she murmured. 

“ He was very hospitable,” Hamel continued. 
“ He wanted me to remain here as a guest and not 
go to the Tower at all.” 

“ And you.? ” 

“ I am going to the Tower,” he said. “ I am 
going there to-morrow or the day after.” 

The music swelled beneath her fingers. 

“ For how long .? ” 

“ For a week or so. I am just giving your uncle 
time to clear out his belongings. I am leaving him 
the outhouse.” 

“ He asked you to leave him that.? ” she whis- 
pered. 

“ Yes ! ” 

“ You are not going in there at all.? ” 

“ Not at all.” 

Again she played a little more loudly for a few 
moments. Then the music died away once more. 

“ What reason did he give for keeping possession 
of that.? ” 

“ Another hobby,” Hamel replied. “ He is an in- 
ventor, it seems. He has the model of something 
there; he would not tell me what.” 

She shivered a little, and her music drifted away. 
She bent over the keys, her face hidden from him. 

“ You will not go away just yet? ” she asked softly. 


THE VANISHED MESSENGER 139 

“ You are going to stay for a few days, at any rate? ” 

“ Without a doubt,” he assured her. ‘‘ I am al- 
together my own master.” 

“ Thank God,” she murmured. 

He leaned with his elbow against the top of the 
piano, looking down at her. Since dinnertime she 
had fastened a large red rose in the front of her 
gown. 

“ Do you know that this is all rather mysterious ? ” 
he said calmly. 

“ What is mysterious ? ” she demanded. 

“ The atmosphere of the place : your uncle’s queer 
aversion to my having the Tower; your visitor up- 
stairs, who fights with the servants while we are at 
dinner; your uncle himself, whose will seems to be 
law not only to you but to your brother, who must be 
of age, I should think, and who seems to have plenty 
of spirit.” 

“ We live here, both of us,” she told him. “ He 
is our guardian.” 

“ Naturally,” Hamel replied, “ and yet, it may 
have been my fancy, of course, but at dinnertime I 
seemed to get a queer impression.” 

“Tell it me?” she insisted, her fingers breaking 
suddenly into a livelier melody. “ Tell it me at once ? 
You were there all the time. I could see you watch- 
ing. Tell me what you thought? ” 

She had turned her head now, and her eyes were 
fixed upon his. They were large and soft, capable, 
he knew, of infinite expression. Yet at that moment 
the light that shone from them was simply one of 
fear, half curious, half shrinking. 

“ My impression,” he said, “ was that both of you 


140 THE VANISHED MESSENGER 

disliked and feared Mr. Fentolin, yet for some reason 
or other that you were his abject slaves.” 

Her fingers seemed suddenly inspired with diabolical 
strength and energy. Strange chords crashed and 
broke beneath them. She played some unfamiliar 
music with tense and fierce energy. Suddenly she 
paused and rose to her feet. 

“ Come out on to the terrace,” she invited. “ You 
are not afraid of cold.f* ” 

He followed her without a word. She opened the 
French windows, and they stepped out on to the long, 
broad stone promenade. The night was dark, and 
there was little to be seen. The light was burning 
at the entrance to the waterway; a few lights were 
twinkling from the village. The soft moaning of the 
sea was distinctly audible. She moved to the edge of 
the palisading. He followed her closely. 

“ You are right, Mr. Hamel,” she said. “ I think 
that I am more afraid of him than any woman ever 
was of any man in this world.” 

‘‘ Then why do you live here ? ” he protested. 
“ You must have other relations to whom, you could 
go. And your brother — why doesn’t he do some- 
thing — go into one of the professions.? He could 
surely leave easily enough ? ” 

“ I will tell you a secret,” she answered calmly. 
“ Perhaps it will help you to understand. You know 
my uncle’s condition. You know that it was the re- 
sult of an accident ? ” 

“ I have heard so,” he replied gravely. 

She clutched at his arm. 

“ Come,” she said. 

Side by side they walked the entire length of the 


THE VANISHED MESSENGER 141 

terrace. When they reached the comer, they were 
met with a fierce gust of wind. She battled along, 
and he followed her. They were looking inland now. 
There were no lights visible — nothing but dark, 
chaotic emptiness. From somewhere below him he 
could hear the wind in the tree-tops. 

“ This way,” she directed. ’ “ Be careful.” 

They walked to the very edge of the palisading. 
It was scarcely more than a couple of feet high. She 
pointed downwards. 

“ Can you see ? ” she whispered. 

By degrees his eyes faintly penetrated the dark- 
ness. It was as though they were looking down a 
precipice. The descent was perfectly sheer for nearly 
a hundred feet. At the bottom were the pine 
trees. 

“ Come here again in the morning,” she whispered. 
“ You will see then. I brought you here to show you 
the place. It was here that the accident happened.” 

“ What accident ? ” 

‘‘ Mr, Fentolin’s,” she continued. “ It was here 
that he went over. He was picked up with both his 
legs broken. They never thought that he would live.” 

Hamel shivered a little. As his eyes grew accus- 
tomed to the darkness, he saw more distinctly than 
ever the sheer fall, the tops of the bending trees 
below. 

“ What a horrible thing ! ” he exclaimed. 

“ It was more horrible than you know,” she con- 
tinued, dropping her voice a little, almost whispering 
in his ear. ‘‘ I do not know why I tell you this — 
you, a stranger — but if I do not tell some one, I 
think that the memory of it will drive me mad. It was 


142 THE VANISHED MESSENGER 

no accident at all. Mr. Fentolin was thrown over ! ” 

“ By whom ? ” he asked. 

She clung to his arm for a moment. 

‘VAh, don’t ask me!” she begged. “No one 
knows. My uncle gave out, as soon as he was con- 
scious, that it was an accident.” 

“ That, at any rate, was fine of him,” Hamel de- 
clared. 

She shivered. 

“ He was proud, at least, of our family name. 
Whatever credit he deserves for it, he must have. 
It was owing to that accident that we became his 
slaves : nothing but that — his absolute slaves, to wait 
upon him, if he would, hand and foot. You see, he 
has never been able to marry. His life was, of course, 
ruined. So the burden came to us. We took it up, 
little thinking what was in store for us. Five years 
ago we came here to live. Gerald wanted to go into 
the army ; I wanted to travel with my mother. Ger- 
ald has done all the work secretly, but he has never 
been allowed to pass his examinations. I have never 
left England except to spend two years at the strictest 
boarding-school in Paris, to which I was taken and 
fetched away by one of his creatures. We live here, 
with the shadow of this thing always with us. We 
are his puppets. If we hesitate to do his bidding, he 
reminds us. So far, we have been his creatures, body 
and soul. Whether it will go on, I cannot say — oh, 
I cannot say ! It is bad for us, but — there is mother, 
too. He makes her life a perfect hell ! ” 

A roar of wind came booming once more across 
the marshes, bending the trees which grew so thickly 
beneath them and which ascended precipitately to 


THE VANISHED MESSENGER 143 

the back of the house. The French windows behind 
rattled. She looked around nervously. 

‘‘ I am afraid of him all the time,” she murmured. 
‘‘ He seems to overhear everything — he or his crea- 
tures, Listen ! ” 

They were silent for several moments. He whis- 
pered in her ear so closely that through the darkness 
he could see the fire in her eyes. 

“ You are telling me half,” he said. “ Tell me 
everything. Who threw your uncle over the para- 
pet ? ” 

She stood by his side, motionless and trembling. 

“ It was the passion of a moment,” she said at 
last, speaking hoarsely. “ I cannot tell you. Lis- 
ten ! Listen ! ” 

“ There is no one near,” Hamel assured her, ‘‘ It 
is the wind which shakes the windows. I wish that 
you would tell me everything. I -would like to be 
your friend. Believe me, I have that desire, really. 
There are so many things which I do not under- 
stand. That it is dull here for you, of course, is 
natural, but there is something more than that. 
You seem always to fear something. Your uncle is 
a selfish man, naturally, although to look at him he 
seems to have the disposition of an angel. But be- 
yond that, is there anything of which you are afraid.? 
You seem all the time to live in fear.” 

She suddenly clutched his hand. There was noth- 
ing of affection in her touch, and yet he felt a thrill 
of delight. 

“ There are strange things which happen here,” 
she whispered, “ things which neither Gerald nor I 
understand. Yet they terrify us. I think that very 


144 the vanished MESSENGER 

soon the end will come. Neither of us can stand 
it very much longer. We have no friends. Some- 
how or other, he seems to manage to keep us always 
isolated.” 

“ I shall not go away from here,” Hamel said 
firmly, “ at present. Mind, I am not at all sure that, 
living this solitary life as you do, you have not be- 
come a little over-nervous ; that you have not ex- 
aggerated the fear of some things. To me your 
uncle seems merely quixotic and egregiously selfish. 
However that may be, I am going to remain.” 

She clutched once more at his arm, her finger was 
upraised. They listened together. From some- 
where behind them came the clear, low wailing of a 
violin. 

“ It is Mr. Fentolin,” she whispered. “ Please 
come in ; let us go in at once. He only plays when 
he is excited. I am afraid! Oh, I am afraid that 
something is going to happen I ” 

She was already round the corner and on her way 
to the main terrace. He followed her closely. 


CHAPTER XVI 


“ Let us follow the example of all great golfers,” 
Hamel said. “ Let us for this morning, at any rate, 
imagine that your whole world is encompassed within 
these eighteen holes. We have been sent here in a 
moment of good humour by your tyrant uncle. The 
sun shines, and the wind is from the west. Why 
not ? ” 

“ That is all very well for you,” she retorted, 
smiling, “ but I have topped my drive.” 

“ Purely an incident,” he assured her. “ The vicis- 
situdes of the game do not enter into the question. 
I have driven a ball far above my usual form, but 
I am not gloating over it. I prefer to remember 
only that I am going to spend the next two hours 
with you.” 

She played her shot, and they walked for a little 
way together. She was suddenly silent. 

“ Do you know,” she said finally, just a little 
gravely, “ I am not at all used to speeches of this 
sort.” 

‘‘ Then you ought to be,” he declared. “ Noth- 
ing but the lonely life you have been living has kept 
you from hearing them continually.” 

She laughed a little at the impotence of her rebuff 
and paused for a moment to make her next shot. 
Hamel, standing a little on one side, watched her ap- 
praisingly. Her short, grey tweed skirt was obvi- 


146 THE VANISHED MESSENGER 

ouslj the handiwork of an accomplished tailor. Her 
grey stockings and suede shoes were immaculate and 
showed a care for her appearance which pleased him. 
Her swing, too, revealed a grace, the grace of long 
arms and a supple body, at which previously he had 
only guessed. The sunshine seemed to have brought 
out a copper tinge from her abundant brown hair. 

“ Do you know,” he remarked, “ I think I am be- 
ginning to like your uncle. Great idea of his, sending 
us off here directly after breakfast.” 

Her face darkened for a moment, and he realised 
his error. The same thought, indeed, had been in 
both their minds. Mr. Fentolin’s courteous sugges- 
tion had been offered to them almost in the shape of a 
command. It was scarcely possible to escape from the 
reflection that he had desired to rid himself of their 
presence for the morning. 

“ Of course,” he went on, “ I knew that these links 
were good — quite famous, aren’t they.?” 

“ I have played on so few others,” she told him. 
“ I learned my golf here with King, the professional.” 

He took off his cap and handed it to his caddy. 
He himself was beginning already to look younger. 
The long blue waves came rippling up the creeks. 
The salt wind, soft with sunshine, blew in their faces. 
The marshes on the landward side were mauve with 
lavender blossom. In the distance, the red-tiled cot- 
tages nestled deep among a background of green trees 
and rising flelds. 

“ This indeed is a land of peace,” he declared. If 
I hadn’t to give you quite so many strokes, I should 
be really enjoying myself.” 

“ You don’t play like a man who has been living 


THE VANISHED MESSENGER 147 

abroad for a great many years,” she remarked. 
“ Tell me about some of the places you have visited? ” 

“ Don’t let us talk seriously,” he begged. “ I’ll 
tell you of them but let it be later on. This morning 
I feel that the spring air is getting into my head. 
I have an absurd desire to talk nonsense.” 

“ So far,” she admitted, “ you haven’t been al- 
together unsuccessful.” 

“ If you are alluding,” he replied, “ to the personal 
remarks I was emboldened to make on my way here, 
I can only say that they were excused by their truth- 
fulness.” 

‘‘ I am not at all sure that you have known me long 
enough to tell me what colours suit me,” she de- 
murred. 

“ Then what will you say,” he enquired, “ if I 
admire the angle of that quill in your hat ? ” 

Don’t do it,” she laughed. “ If you continue 
like this, I may have to go home.” 

“ You have sent the car away,” he reminded her 
cheerfully. ‘‘ You would simply have to sit upon the 
balcony and reflect upon your wasted morning.” 

I decline to talk upon the putting green,” she 
said. “ It puts me off. If you will stand perfectly 
quiet and say nothing, I will play the like.” 

They moved, off presently to the next teeing ground. 

“ I don’t believe this nonsense is good for our golf,” 
she said. 

“ It is immensely good for us as human beings,” 
he protested. 

They had played the ninth hole and turned for 
home. On their right now was a shimmering stretch 
of wet sand and a thin line of sea in the distance. 


148 THE VANISHED MESSENGER 

The tide, receding, had left little islands of virgin 
sand, grass tufted, the home of countless sea-gulls. 
A brown-sailed fishing boat was racing for the narrow 
entrance to the tidal way. 

“ I am beginning to understand what there is about 
this coast which fascinated my father so,” he re- 
marked. 

“ Are you? ” she answered gravely. “ Years ago I 
used to love it, but not now.” 

He tried to change the subject, but the gloom had 
settled upon her face once more. 

“ You don’t know what it is like,” she went on, as 
they walked side by side after their balls, “ to live 
day and night in fear, with no one to talk to — no 
one, that is to say, who is not under the same shadow. 
Even the voices of the wind and the sea, and the 
screaming of the birds, seem to* bring always an evil 
message. There is nothing kindly or hopeful even in 
the sunshine. At night, when the tide comes thunder- 
ing in as it does so often at this time of the year, one 
is afraid. There is so much to make one afraid ! ” 

She had turned pale again, notwithstanding the 
sunshine and the freshening wind. He laid his hand 
lightly upon her arm. She suffered his touch without 
appearing to notice it. 

“ Ah, you mustn’t talk like that ! ” he pleaded. 
“ Do you know what you make me feel like? ” 

She came back from the world of her own unhappy 
imaginings. 

“ Really, I forgot myself,” she declared, with a lit- 
tle smile. “ Never mind, it does one good sometimes. 
One up, are you? Henceforth, then, golf — all the 
i rigour of the game, mind.” 


THE VANISHED MESSENGER 149 

He fell in with her mood, and their conversation 
touched only upon the game. On the last green he 
suffered defeat and acknowledged it with a little 
grimace. 

“ If I might say so, Miss Fentolin,” he protested, 
“ you are a little too good for your handicap. I used 
to play a very reasonable scratch myself, but I can’t 
give you the strokes.” 

She smiled. 

“ Doubtless your long absence abroad,” she began 
slowly, “ has affected your game.” 

I was round in eighty-one,” he grumbled. 

‘‘ You must have travelled in many countries,” she 
continued, “ where golf was an impossibility.” 

“ Naturally,” he admitted. “ Let us stay and 
have lunch and try again.” 

She shook her head with a little sigh of regret. 

“ You see, the car is waiting,” she pointed out. 
“ We are expected home. I shan’t be a minute put- 
ting my clubs away.” 

They sped swiftly along the level road towards St. 
David’s Hall. Far in the distance they saw it, built 
upon that strange hill, with the sunlight flashing in its 
windows. He looked at it long and curiously. 

“ I think,” he said, “ that yours is the most ex- 
traordinarily situated house I have ever seen. Fancy 
a gigantic mound like that in the midst of an abso- 
lutely flat marsh.” 

She nodded. 

“ There is no other house quite like it in England,” 
she said. “ I suppose it is really a wonderful place. 
Have you looked at the pictures ? ” 

‘‘ Not carefully,” he told her. 


150 THE VANISHED MESSENGER 

“ You must before you leave,” she insisted. “ Mr. 
Fentolin is a great judge, and so was his father.” 

Their road curved a little to the sea, and at its last 
bend they were close to the pebbly ridge on which the 
Tower was built. He touched the electric bell and 
stopped the car. 

“ Do let us walk along and have a look at my queer 
possession once more,” he begged. ‘‘ Luncheon, you 
told me, is not till half-past one, and it is a quarter to 
now.” 

She hesitated for a moment and then assented. 
They left the car and walked along the little track, 
bordered with white posts, which led on to the ridge. 
To their right was the village, separated from them 
only by one level stretch of meadowland ; in the back- 
ground, the hall. They turned along the raised dike 
just inside the pebbly beach, and she showed her com- 
panion the narrow waterway up to the village. At its 
entrance was a tall iron upright, with a ladder at- 
tached and a great lamp at the top. 

“ That is to show them the way in at night, isn’t 
it.P ” he asked. 

She nodded. 

“ Yes,” she told him. “ Mr. Fentolin had it placed 
there. And yet,” she went on, “ curiously enough, 
since it was erected, there have been more wrecks than 



jver. 


“ It doesn’t seem a dangerous beach,” he remarked. 
She pointed to a spot about fifty yards from the 
Tower. It was the spot to which the woman whom 
he had met on the day of his arrival had pointed. 

“ You can’t see them,” she said ; “ they are always 
out of sight, even when the tide is at the lowest — but 


THE VANISHED MESSENGER 151 

there are some hideous sunken rocks there. ‘ The 
Daggers,’ they call them. One or two fishing boats 
have been lost on them, trying to make the village. 
When Mr. Fentolin put up the lamp, every one thought 
that it would be quite safe to try and get in at night. 
This winter, though, there have been three wrecks 
which no one could understand. It must be something 
in the currents, or a sort of optical illusion, because 
in the last shipwreck one man was saved, and he swore 
that at the time they struck the rock, they were 
headed straight for the light.” 

They had reached the Tower now. Hamel became 
a little absorbed. They walked around it, and he 
tried the front door. He found, as he had expected, 
that it opened readily. He looked around him for 
several moments. 

Your uncle has been here this morning,” he re- 
marked quietly. 

Very likely.” 

“ That outhouse,” he continued, “ must be quite a 
large place. Have you any idea what it is he works 
upon there ? ” 

“ None,” she answered. 

He looked around him once more. 

“ Mr. Fentolin has bfeen preparing for my coming,” 
he observed. “ I see that he has moved a few of his 
personal things.” 

She made no reply, only she shivered a little as she 
stepped back into the sunshine. 

“ I don’t believe you like my little domicile,” he re- 
marked, as they started off homeward. 

“ I don’t,” she admitted curtly. 

“ In the train,” he reminded her, “ you seemed 


152 THE VANISHED MESSENGER 

rather to discourage my coming here. Yet last night, 
after dinner — ” 

“ I was wrong,” she interrupted. “ I should have 
said nothing, and yet I couldn’t help it. I don’t sup- 
pose it will make any difference.” 

“ Make any difference to what.^ ” 

“ I cannot tell you,” she confessed. “ Only I have 
a strange antipathy to the place. I don’t like it. 
My uncle sometimes shuts himself up here for quite a 
long time. We have an idea, Gerald and I, that 
things happen here sometimes which no one knows of. 
When he comes back, he is moody and ill-tempered, or 
else half mad with excitement. He isn’t always the 
amiable creature whom you have met. He has the 
face of an angel, but there are times — ” 

“ Well, don’t let’s talk about him,” Hamel begged, 
as her voice faltered. ‘‘ Now that I am going to stay 
in the neighbourhood for a few days, you must please 
remember that it is partly your responsibility. You 
are not going to shut yourself up, are you.^ You’ll 
come and play golf again ” 

“ If he will let me,” she promised. 

“ I think he will let you, right enough,” Hamel ob- 
served. “ Between you and me, I rather think he 
hates having me down at the Tower at all. He will 
encourage anything that takes me away, even as far 
as the Golf Club.” 

They were approaching the Hall now. She was 
looking once more as she had looked last night. She 
bad lost her colour, her walk was no longer buoyant. 
She had the air of a prisoner who, after a brief spell of 
liberty, enters once more the place of his confinement. 
Gerald came out to meet them as they climbed the 


THE VANISHED MESSENGER 153 

stone steps which led on to the terrace. He glanced 
behind as he greeted them, and then almost stealthily 
took a telegram from his pocket. 

“ This came for you,” he remarked, handing it 
to Hamel. “ I met the boy bringing it out of the 
office.” 

Hamel tore it open, with a word of thanks. Gerald 
stood in front of him as he read. 

“ If you wouldn’t mind putting it away at once,” he 
asked, a little uncomfortably. “ You see, the tele- 
graph office is in the place, and my uncle has a queer 
rule that every telegram is brought to him before it is 
delivered.” 

Hamel did not speak for a moment. He was look- 
ing at the few words scrawled across the pink sheet 
with a heavy black pencil: 

“ Make every enquiry in your neighbourhood 
for an American, John P. Burnt er, entrusted 
•with message of great importance, addressed to 
Von Dusenberg, The Hague, Is believed to 
have been in railway accident near Wymondham 
and to have been taken from irm by young man 
in motor-car. Suggest that he is being im- 
properly detained,^' 

Hamel crumpled up the telegram and thrust it into 
his pocket. 

“ By-the-by,” he asked, as they ascended the steps, 
“ what did you say the name of this poor fellow was 
who is lying ill up-stairs ^ ” 

Gerald hesitated for a moment. Then he answered 
as though a species of recklessness had seized him. 

‘‘ He called himself Mr. John P. Dunster.” 


CHAPTER XVII 


Mr. Fentolin, having succeeded in getting rid of his 
niece and his somewhat embarrassing guest for at least 
two hours, was seated in his study, planning out a 
somewhat strenuous morning, when his privacy was 
invaded by Doctor Sarson. 

“ Our guest,” the latter announced, in his usual 
cold and measured tones, “ has sent me to request that 
you will favour him with an interview.” 

Mr. Fentolin laid his pen deliberately down. 

“ So soon,” he murmured. “ Very well, Sarson, I 
am at his service. Say that I will come at once.” 

Mr. Fentolin lost no time in paying this suggested 
visit. Mr. John P. Dunster, shaved and clothed, was 
seated in an easy-chair drawn up to the window of his 
room, smoking what he was forced to confess was a 
very excellent cigar. He turned his head as the door 
opened, and Mr. Fentolin waved his hand pleasantly. 

“ Really,” he declared, “ this is most agreeable. I 
had an idea, Mr. Dunster, that I should find you a 
reasonable person. Men of your eminence in their 
profession usually are.” 

Mr. Dunster looked at the speaker curiously. 

“ And what might my profession be, Mr. Fento- 
lin?” he asked. ‘‘You seem to know a great deal 
about me.” 

“ It is true,” Mr. Fentolin admitted. “ I do know 
a great deal.” 


THE VANISHED MESSENGER 155 

Mr. Dunster knocked the ash from his cigar. 

“ Well,” he said, “ I have been the bearer of several 
important communications from my side of the At- 
lantic to England and to the Continent, and I have 
always known that there was a certain amount of risk 
in the business. Once I had an exceedingly narrow 
shave,” he continued reminiscently, “ but this is the 
first time I have ever been dead up against it, and I 
don’t mind confessing that you’ve fairly got me 
puzzled. Who the mischief are you, Mr. Fentolin, 
and what are you interfering about ” 

Mr. Fentolin smiled queerly. 

“ I am what you see,” he replied. “ I am one of 
those unfortunate human beings who, by reason of 
their physical misfortunes, are cut off from the world 
of actual life. I have been compelled to seek distrac- 
tion in strange quarters. I have wealth — great 
wealth I suppose I should say ; an inordinate curios- 
ity, a talent for intrigue. As to the direction in which 
I carry on my intrigues, or even as to the direct in- 
terests which I study, that is a matter, Mr. Dunster, 
upon which I shall not gratify your curiosity nor 
anybody else’s. But, you see, I am admitting freely 
that it does interest me to interfere in great affairs.” 

“ But how on earth did you get to know about 
me,” Mr. Dunster asked, “ and my errand.? You 
couldn’t possibly have got me here in an ordinary way. 
It was an entire fluke.” 

“ There, you speak with some show of reason. I 
have a nephew whom you have met, who is devoted to 
me.” 

“ Mr. Gerald Fentolin,” Mr. Dunster remarked 
drily. 


156 THE VANISHED MESSENGER 

“ Precisely,” Mr. Fentolin declared. “ Well, I ad- 
mit frankly the truth of what you say. Your — er 
— shall we say capture, was by way of being a gigan- 
tic fluke. My nephew’s instructions simply were to 
travel down by the train to Harwich with you, to 
endeavour to make your acquaintance, to follow you 
on to your destination, and, if any chance to do so 
occurred, to relieve you of your pocket-book. That, 
however, I never ventured to expect. What really 
happened was, as you have yourself suggested, almost 
in the nature of a miracle. My nephew showed him- 
self to be possessed of gifts which were a revelation 
to me. He not only succeeded in travelling with you 
by the special train, but after its wreck he was clever 
enough to bring you here, instead of delivering you 
over to the mercies of a village doctor. I really can- 
not find words to express my appreciation of my 
nephew’s conduct.” 

I could,” Mr. Dunster muttered, “ very easily ! ” 

Mr. Fentolin sighed gently. 

“ Perhaps our points of view might differ.” 

“We have spent a very agreeable few minutes in 
explanations,” Mr. Dunster continued. “ Would it 
be asking too much if I now suggest that we remove 
the buttons from our foils ? ” 

“Why not.^ ” Mr. Fentolin assented smoothly. 
“ Your first question to yourself, under these circum- 
stances, would naturally be : ‘ What does Mr. Fentolin 
want with me.? ’ I will answer that question for you. 
All that I ask — it is really very little — is the word 
agreed upon.” 

Mr. Dunster held his cigar a little way off and 
looked steadfastly at his host for a moment. 


THE VANISHED MESSENGER 157 

“ So you have interpreted my cipher ? ” 

Mr. Fentolin spread out the palms of his hands in 
a delicate gesture. 

“ My dear Mr. Dunster,” he said, ‘‘ one of the 
simplest, I think, that was ever strung together. I 
am somewhat of an authority upon ciphers.” 

“ I gather,” Mr. Dunster went on, although his 
cigar was burning itself out, ‘‘ that you have broken 
the seal of my dispatches ? ” 

Mr. Fentolin closed his eyes as though he had heard 
a discord. 

‘‘ Nothing so clumsy as that, I hope,” he mur- 
mured gently. “ I will not insult a person of your 
experience and intelligence by enumerating the various 
ways in which the seal of a dispatch may be liquefied. 
It is quite true that I have read with much pleasure 
the letter which you are carrying from a certain 
group of very distinguished men to a certain person 
now in The Hague. The letter, however, is replaced 
in its envelope ; the seal is still there. You need have 
no fears whatever concerning it. All that I require 
is that one word from you.” 

“ And if I give you that one word.? ” Mr. Dunster 
asked. 

“ If you give it me, as I think you will,” Mr. Fento- 
lin replied suavely, ‘‘I shall then telegraph to my 
agent, or rather I should say to a dear friend of 
mine who lives at The Hague, and that single word 
will be cabled by him from The Hague to New 
York.” 

“ And in that case,” Mr. Dunster enquired, ‘‘ what 
would become of me.? ” 

“ You would give us the great pleasure of your 


158 THE VANISHED MESSENGER 

company here for a very brief visit,” Mr. Fentolin 
answered. We should, I can assure you, do our 
very best to entertain you.” 

“ And the dispatch which I am carrying to The 
Hague? ” 

Would remain here with you.” 

Mr. Dunster knocked the ash from his cigar. 
Without being a man of great parts, he was a shrewd 
person, possessed of an abundant stock of common 
sense. He applied himself, for a few moments, to a 
consideration of this affair, without arriving at any 
satisfactory conclusion. 

“ Come, Mr. Fentolin,” he said at last, “ you must 
really forgive me, but I can’t see what you’re driving 
at. You are an Englishman, are you not? ” 

“ I am an Englishman,” Mr. Fentolin confessed ; 
“ or rather,” he added, with ghastly humour, I am 
half an Englishman.” 

You are, I am sure,” Mr. Dunster continued, ‘‘ a 
person of intelligence, a well-read person, a person of 
perceptions. Surely you can see and appreciate the 
danger with which your country is threatened ? ” 

“ With regard to political affairs,” Mr. Fentolin 
admitted, “ I consider myself unusually well posted — 
in fact, the study of the diplomatic methods of the 
various great Powers is rather a hobby of mine.” 

“ Yet,” Mr. Dunster persisted, “ you do not wish 
this letter delivered to that little conference in The 
Hague, which you must be aware is now sitting prac- 
tically to determine the fate of your nation? ” 

“ I do not wish,” Mr. Fentolin replied, ‘‘ I do not 
intend, that that letter shall be delivered. Why do 
you worry about my point of view? I may have a 


THE VANISHED MESSENGER 159 

dozen reasons. I may believe that it will be good for 
my country to suffer a little chastisement.” 

“ Or you may,” Mr. Dunster suggested, glancing 
keenly at his host, “ be the paid agent of some foreign 
Power.” 

Mr. Fentolin shook his head. 

“ My means,” he pointed out, should place me 
above such suspicion. My income, I really believe, is 
rather more than fifty thousand pounds a year. I 
should not enter into these adventures, which nat- 
urally are not entirely dissociated from a certain 
amount of risk, for the purposes of financial gain.” 

Mr. Dunster was still mystified. 

“ Granted that you do so from pure love of ad- 
venture,” he declared, “ I still cannot see why you 
should range yourself on the side of your country’s 
enemies.” 

“ In time,” Mr. Fentolin observed, “ even that may 
become clear to you. At present, well — Just that 
word, if you please ? ” 

Mr. Dunster shook his head. 

“ No,” he decided, “ I do not think so. I cannot 
make up my mind to tell you that word.” 

Mr. Fentolin gave no sign of annoyance or even dis- 
appointment. He simply sighed. His eyes were full 
of a gentle sympathy, his face indicated a certain 
amount of concern. 

‘‘ You distress me,” he declared. Perhaps it is 
my fault. I have not made myself sufficiently clear. 
The knowledge of that word is a necessity to me. 
Without it I cannot complete my plans. Without it I 
very much fear, dear Mr. Dunster, that your sojourn 
among us may be longer than you have any idea of.” 


i6o THE VANISHED MESSENGER 


Mr. Dunster laughed a little derisively. 

“ We’ve passed those days,” he remarked. “ I’ve 
done my best to enter into the humour of this situa- 
tion, but there are limits. You can’t keep prisoners 
in English country houses, nowadays. There are a 
dozen ways of communicating with the outside world, 
and when that’s once done, it seems to me that the 
position of Squire Fentolin of St, David’s Hall might 
be a little peculiar.” 

Mr. Fentolin smiled, very slightly, still very 
blandly. 

“ Alas, my stalwart friend, I fear that you are by 
nature an optimist! I am not a betting man, but I 
am prepared to bet you a hundred pounds to one that 
you have made your last communication with the out- 
side world until I say the word.” 

Mr. Dunster was obviously plentifully supplied 
with either courage or bravado, for he only laughed. 

“ Then you had better make up your mind at once, 
Mr. Fentolin, how soon that word is to be spoken, or 
you may lose your money,” he remarked. 

Mr. Fentolin sat very quietly in his chair. 

“ You mean, then,” he asked, “ that you do not in- 
tend to humour me in this little matter.? ” 

“ I do not intend,” Mr. Dunster assured him, “ to 
part with that word to you or to any one else in the 
the world. When my message has been presented to 
the person to whom it has been addressed, when my 
trust is discharged, then and then only shall I send 
that cablegram. That moment can only arrive at the 
end of my journey.” 

Mr. Fentolin leaned now a little forward in his 
chair. His face was still smooth and expressionless, 


THE VANISHED MESSENGER i6x 

but there was a queer sort of meaning in his 
words. 

‘‘ The end of your journey,” he said grimly, “ may 
be nearer than you think.” 

“ If I am not heard of in The Hague to-morrow at 
the latest,” Mr. Dunster pointed out, “ remember that 
before many more hours have passed, I shall be 
searched for, even to the far corners of the earth.” 

“ Let me assure you,” Mr. Fentolin promised se- 
renely, “ that though your friends search for you up 
in the skies or down in the bowels of the earth, they 
will not find you. My hiding-places are not as other 
people’s.” 

Mr. Dunster beat lightly with his square, blunt fore- 
finger upon the table which stood by his side. 

That’s not the sort of talk I understand,” he de- 
clared curtly. “ Let us understand one another, if we 
can. What is to happen to me, if I refuse to give 
you that word ? ” 

Mr. Fentolin held his hand in front of his eyes, as 
though to shut out some unwelcome vision. 

“ Dear me,” he exclaimed, how unpleasant ! 
Why should you force me to disclose my plans ? Be 
content, dear Mr. Dunster, with the knowledge of 
this one fact: we cannot part with you. I have 
thought it over from every point of view, and I have 
come to that conclusion ; always presuming,” he went 
on, “ that the knowledge of that little word of which 
we have spoken remains in its secret chamber of your 
memory.” 

Mr. Dunster smoked in silence for a few minutes. 

“ I am very comfortable here,” he remarked. 

“ You delight me,” Mr. Fentolin murmured. 


i 62 the vanished MESSENGER 

“ Your cook,” Mr. Dunster continued, “ has wcr 
my heartfelt appreciation. Your cigars and wines 
are fit for any nobleman. Perhaps, after all, this lit- 
tie rest is good for me.” 

Mr. Fentolin listened attentively. 

“ Do not forget,” he said, “ that there is always a 
limit fixed, whether it be one day, two days, or three 
days.” 

“ A limit to your complacence, I presume ? ” 

Mr. Fentolin assented. 

“ Obviously, then,” Mr. Dunster concluded, ‘‘ you 
wish those who sent me to believe that my message has 
been delivered. Yet there I must confess that you 
puzzle me. What I cannot see is, to put it bluntly, 
where you come in. Any one of the countries repre- 
sented at this little conference would only be the gain- 
ers by the miscarriage of my message, which is, with- 
out doubt, so far as they are concerned, of a distaste- 
ful nature. Your own country alone could be the suf- 
ferer. Now what interest in the world, then, is there 
left — what interest in the world can you possibly rep- 
resent — which can be the gainer by your present ac- 
tion ? ” 

Mr. Fentolin’s eyes grew suddenly a little brighter. 
There was a light upon his face strange to witness. 

“ The power which is to be the gainer,” he said 
quietly, “ is the power encompassed by these walls.” 

He touched his chest; his long, slim fingers were 
folded upon it. 

When I meet a man whom I like,” he continued 
softly, “ I take him into my confidence. Picture me, 
if you will, as a kind of Puck. Haven’t you heard 
that with the decay of the body comes sometimes a 


THE VANISHED MESSENGER 163 

malignant growth in the brain ; a Caliban-like desire 
for evil to fall upon the world ; a desire to escape from 
the loneliness of suffering, the isolation of black mis- 
ery? ” 

Mr. John P. Dunster let his cigar burn out. He 
looked steadfastly at this strange little figure whose 
chair had imperceptibly moved a little nearer to his. 

“ You know what the withholding of this message 
you carry may mean,” Mr. Fentolin proceeded. 
“ You^ come here, bearing to Europe the word of a 
great people, a people whose voice is powerful enough 
even to still the gathering furies. I have read your 
ciphered message. It is what I feared. It is my will, 
mine — Miles Fentolin’s — that that message be not 
delivered.” 

“ I wonder,” Mr. Dunster muttered under his 
breath, “ whether you are in earnest.” 

“ In your heart,” Mr. Fentolin told him, “ you 
know that I am. I can see the truth in your face. 
Now, for the first time, you begin to understand.” 

“ To a certain extent,” Mr. Dunster admitted. 
“ Where I am still in the dark, however, is why you 
should expect that I should become your confederate. 
It is true that by holding me up and obstructing my 
message, you may bring about the evil you seek, but 
unless that word is cabled back to New York, and my 
senders believe that my message has been delivered, 
there can be no certainty. What has been trusted to 
me as the safest means of transmission, might, in an 
emergency, be committed to a cable.” 

“ Excellent reasoning,” Fentolin agreed. “ For 
the very reasons you name that word will be given.” 

Mr. Dunster’s face was momentarily troubled. 


i64 the vanished MESSENGER 

There was something in the still, cold emphasis of 
this man’s voice which made him shiver, 

“ Do you think,” Mr. Fentolin went on, “ that I 
spend a great fortune buying the secrets of the world, 
that I live from day to day with the risk of igno- 
minious detection always hovering about me — do 
you think that I do this and am yet unprepared to 
run the final risks of life and death? Have you ever 
talked with a murderer, Mr. Dunster? Has curi- 
osity ever taken you within the walls of Sing Sing? 
Have you sat within the cell of a doomed man and 
felt the thrill of his touch, of his close presence? 
Well, I will not ask you those questions. I will sim- 
ply tell you that you are talking to one now.” 

Mr. Dunster had forgotten his extinct cigar. He 
found it difficult to remove his eyes from Mr. Fento- 
lin’s face. He was half fascinated, half stirred with 
a vague, mysterious fear. Underneath these wild 
words ran always that hard note of truth. 

“ You seem to be in earnest,” he muttered. 

“ I am,” Mr. Fentolin assured him quietly. “ I 
have more than once been instrumental in bringing 
about the death of those who have crossed my pur- 
poses. I plead guilty to the weakness of Nero. Suf- 
fering and death are things of joy to me. There! ” 
“ I am not sure,” Mr. Dunster said slowly, “ that I 
ought not to wring your neck.” 

Mr. Fentolin smiled. His chair receded an inch 
or two. There was never a time when his expression 
had seemed more seraphic. 

There is no emergency of that sort,” he re- 
marked, “ for which I am not prepared.” 

His little revolver gleamed for a minute beneath his 


THE VANISHED MESSENGER 165 

cuff. He backed his chair slowly and with wonder- 
ful skill towards the door. 

“ We will fix the period of your probation, Mr. 
Dunster, at — say, twenty-four hours,” he decided. 
“ Please make yourself until then entirely at home. 
My cook, my cellar, my cigar cabinets, are at your 
disposal. If some happy impulse,” he concluded, 
“ should show you the only reasonable course by din- 
nertime, it would give me the utmost pleasure to have 
you join us at that meal. I can promise you a cheque 
beneath your plate which even you might think worth 
considering, wine in your glass which kings might 
sigh for, cigars by your side which even your Mr. 
Pierpont Morgan could not buy. Au revoir ! ” 

The door opened and closed. Mr. Dunster sat 
staring into the open space like a man still a little 
dazed. 


CHAPTER XVIII 


The beautiful but somewhat austere front of St. 
David’s Hall seemed, in a sense, transformed, as 
Hamel and his companion climbed the worn grey 
steps which led on to the broad sweep of terrace. Ev- 
idently visitors had recently arrived. A dark, rather 
good-looking woman, with pleasant round face and a 
ceaseless flow of conversation, was chattering away to 
Mr. Fentolin. By her side stood another woman who 
was a stranger to Hamel — thin, still elegant, with 
tired, worn face, and the shadow of something in her 
eyes which reminded him at once of Esther. She 
wore a large picture hat and carried a little Pom- 
eranian dog under her arm. In the background, 
an insignificant-looking man with grey side- 
whiskers and spectacles was beaming upon every- 
body. Mr. Fentolin waved his hand and beckoned 
to Hamel and Esther as they somewhat hesitatingly 
approached. 

This is one of my fortunate mornings, you see, 
Esther ! ” he exclaimed, smiling. “ Lady Saxthorpe 
has brought her husband over to lunch. Lady 
Saxthorpe,” he added, turning to the woman at his 
side, ‘‘-let me present to you the son of one of the 
first men to realise the elusive beauty of our coast. 
This is Mr. Hamel, son of Peter Hamel, R.A. — the 
Countess of Saxthorpe.” 

Lady Saxthorpe, who had been engaged in greeting 


THE VANISHED MESSENGER 167 

Esther, held out her hand and smiled good-humour- 
edly at Hamel. 

‘‘ I know your father’s work quite well,” she de- 
clared, “ and I don’t wonder that you have made a 
pilgrimage here. They tell me that he painted nine- 
teen pictures — pictures of importance, that is to say 
— within this little area of ten miles. Do you paint, 
Mr. Hamel.? ” 

“ Not at all,” Hamel answered. 

“ Our friend Hamel,” Mr. Fentolin intervened, 
“ WOOS other and sterner muses. He fights nature 
in distant countries, spans her gorges with iron 
bridges, stems the fury of her rivers, and carries to 
the boundary of the world that little twin line of 
metal which brings men like ants to the work-heaps of 
the universe. My dear Florence,” he added, suddenly 
turning to the woman at his other side, “ for the 
moment I had forgotten. You have not met our 
guest yet. Hamel, this is my sister-in-law, Mrs. 
Seymour Fentolin.” 

She held out her hand to him, unnaturally thin and 
white, covered with jewels. Again he saw something 
in her eyes which stirred him vaguely. 

“ It is so nice that you are able to spend a few days 
with us, Mr. Hamel,” she said quietly. ‘‘ I am sorry 
that I have been too indisposed to make your ac- 
quaintance earlier.” 

‘‘ And, Saxthorpe,” Mr. Fentolin continued, ‘‘ you 
must know my young friend here, too. Mr. Hamel — 
Lord Saxthorpe.” 

The latter shook hands heartily with the young 
man. 

“ I knew your father quite well,” he announced. 


i68 THE VANISHED MESSENGER 


“ Queer thing, he used to hang out for months at a 
time at that little shanty on the beach there. Hard- 
est work in the world to get him away. He came over 
to dine with us once or twice, but we saw scarcely any- 
thing of him. I hope his son will not prove so ob- 
durate.” 

“ You are very kind,” Hamel murmured. 

‘‘ Mr. Hamel came into these parts to claim his 
father’s property,” Mr. Fentolin said. “ However, 
I have persuaded him to spend a day or two up here 
before he transforms himself into a misanthrope. 
What of his golf, Esther, eh.?^ ” 

“ Mr. Hamel plays very well, indeed,” the girl re- 
plied. 

“ Your niece was too good for me,” Hamel con- 
fessed. 

Mr. Fentolin smiled. 

“ The politeness of this younger generation,” he 
remarked, “ keeps the truth sometimes hidden from 
us. I perceive that I shall not be told who won. 
Lady Saxthorpe, you are fortunate indeed in the 
morning you have chosen for your visit. There is no 
sun in the world like an April sun, and no corner of 
the earth where it shines with such effect as here. 
Look steadily to the eastward of that second dike 
and you will see the pink light upon the sands, which 
baffled every one until our friend Hamel came and 
caught it on his canvas.” 

“ I do see it,” Lady Saxthorpe murmured. What 
eyes you have, Mr. Fentolin! What perception for 
colour 1 ” 

“ Dear lady,” Mr. Fentolin said, “ I am one of 
those who benefit by the law of compensations. On 


THE VANISHED MESSENGER 169 

a morning like this I can spend hours merely feasting 
my eyes upon this prospect, and I can find, if not hap- 
piness, the next best thing. The world is full of 
beautiful places, but the strange part of it is that 
beauty has countless phases, and each phase differs in 
some subtle and unexplainable manner from all others. 
Look with me fixedly, dear Lady Saxthorpe. Look, 
indeed, with more than your eyes. Look at that flush 
of wild lavender, where it fades into the sands on one 
side, and strikes the emerald green of that wet sea- 
moss on the other. Look at the liquid blue of that 
tongue of sea which creeps along its bed through the 
yellow sands, through the dark meadowland, which 
creeps and oozes and widens till in an hour’s time it 
will have become a river. Look at my sand islands, 
virgin from the foot of man, the home of sea-gulls, 
the islands of a day. There may be other and 
more beautiful places. There is none quite like this.” 

“ I pity you no longer,” Lady Saxthorpe asserted 
fervently. “ The eyes of the artist are a finer pos- 
session than the limbs of the athlete.” 

The butler announced luncheon, and they all 
trooped in. Hamel found himself next to Lady Sax- 
thorpe. 

‘‘ Dear Mr. Fentolin has been so kind,” she confided 
to him as they took their places. ‘‘ I came in fear and 
trembling to ask for a very small cheque for my dear 
brother’s diocese. My brother is a colonial bishop, 
you know. Can you imagine what Mr. Fentolin has 
given me.? ” 

Hamel wondered politely. Lady Saxthorpe con- 
tinued with an air of triumph. 

A thousand pounds ! Just fancy that — a thou- 


170 THE VANISHED MESSENGER 

sand pounds ! And some people say he is so diffi- 
cult,” she went on, dropping her voice. “ Mrs. Hun- 
gerford came all the way over from Norwich to beg 
for the infirmary there, and he gave her nothing.” 

‘‘ What was his excuse? ” Hamel asked. 

“ I think he told her that it was against his princi- 
ples to give to hospitals,” Lady Saxthorpe replied. 

He thinks that they should be supported out of the 
rates.” 

‘‘ Some people have queer ideas of charity,” Hamel 
remarked. “ Now I am afraid that if I had been 
Mr. Fentolin, I would have given the thousand pounds 
willingly to a hospital, but not a penny to a mission.” 

Mr. Fentolin looked suddenly down the table. He 
was some distance away, but his hearing was won- 
derful. 

‘‘ Ah, my dear Hamel,” he said, “ believe me, mis- 
sions are very wonderful things. It is only from a 
very careful study of their results that I have brought 
myself to be a considerable supporter of those where I 
have some personal knowledge of the organisation. 
Hospitals, on the other hand, provide for the poor 
what they ought to be able to provide for themselves. 
The one thing to avoid in the giving away of money 
is pauperisation. What do you think, Florence? ” 

His sister-in-law, who was seated at the other end 
of the table, looked across at him with a bright but 
stereotyped smile. 

“ I agree with you, of course. Miles. I always 
agree with you. Mr. Fentolin has the knack of being 
right about most things,” she continued, turning to 
Lord Saxthorpe. “ His judgment is really wonder- 
ful.” 


THE VANISHED MESSENGER 171 

‘‘ Wish we could get him to come and sit on the 
bench sometimes, then,” Lord Saxthorpe remarked 
heartily. “ Our neighbours in this part of the world 
are not overburdened with brains. By-the-by,” he 
went on, “ that reminds me. You haven’t got such 
a thing as a mysterious invalid in the house, have 
you? ” 

There was a moment’s rather curious silence. Mr. 
Fentolin was sitting like a carved figure, with a glass 
of wine half raised to his lips. Gerald had broken off 
in the middle of a sentence and was staring at Lord 
Saxthorpe. Esther was sitting perfectly still, her 
face grave and calm, her eyes alone full of fear. 
Lord Saxthorpe was not an observant man and he con- 
tinued, quite unconscious of the sensation which his 
question had aroused. 

“ Sounds a silly thing to ask you, doesn’t it? 
They’re all full of it at Wells, though. I sat on the 
bench this morning and went into the police-station for 
a moment first. Seems they’ve got a long dispatch 
from Scotland Yard about a missing man who is sup- 
posed to be in this part of the world. He came down 
in a special train on Tuesday night — the night of 
the great flood — and his train was wrecked at Wy- 
mondham. After that he was taken on by some one 
in a motor-car. Colonel Renshaw wanted me to 
allude to the matter from the bench, but it seemed to 
me that it was an affair entirely for the police.” 

As though suddenly realising the unexpected inter- 
est which his words had caused. Lord Saxthorpe 
brought his sentence to a conclusion and glanced en- 
quiringly around the table. 

“ A man could scarcely disappear in ^ civilised 


172 THE VANISHED MESSENGER 

neighbourhood like this,” Mr. Fentolin remarked 
quietly, “ but there is a certain amount of coincidence 
about your question. May I ask whether it was alto- 
gether a haphazard one ” 

“ Absolutely,” Lord Saxthorpe declared. ‘‘ The 
idea seems to be that the fellow was brought to one 
of the houses in the neighbourhood, and we were all 
rather chaffing one another this morning about it. 
Inspector Yardley — the stout fellow with the beard, 
you know — was just starting off in his dogcart to 
make enquiries round the neighbourhood. If any one 
in fiction wants a type of the ridiculous detective, 
there he is, ready-made.” 

“ The coincidence of your question,” Mr. Fentolin 
said smoothly, ‘‘ is certainly a strange one. The 
mysterious stranger is within our gates.” 

Lady Saxthorpe, who had been out of the conversa- 
tion for far too long, laid down her knife and fork. 

‘‘My dear Mr. Fentolin!” she exclaimed. “My 
dear Mrs. Fentolin! This is really most exciting! 
Do tell us all about it at once. I thought that the 
man was supposed to have been decoyed away in a 
motor-car. Do you know his name and all about 
him ? ” 

“ There are a few minor points,” Mr. Fentolin mur- 
mured, “ such as his religious convictions and his size 
in boots, which I could not swear about, but so far 
as regards his name and his occupation, I think I can 
gratify your curiosity. He is a Mr. John P. Dunster, 
and he appears to be the representative of an Ameri- 
can firm of bankers, on his way to Germany to con- 
clude a loan.” 

“ God bless my soul ! ” Lord Saxthorpe exclaimed 


THE VANISHED MESSENGER 173 

wonderingly. “ The fellow is actually here under 
this roof! But who brought him? How did he find 
his way? ” 

“ Better ask Gerald,” Mr. Fentolin replied. “ He 
is the abductor. It seems that they both missed the 
train from Liverpool Street, and Mr. Dunster invited 
Gerald to travel down in his special train. Very kind 
of him, but might have been very unlucky for Gerald. 
As you know, they got smashed up at Wymondham, 
and Gerald, feeling in a way responsible for him, 
brought him on here ; quite properly, I think. Sarson 
has been looking after him, but I am afraid he has 
slight concussion of the brain.” 

“ I shall remember this all my life,” Lord Saxthorpe 
declared solemnly, as one of the most singular co- 
incidences which has ever come within my personal 
knowledge. Perhaps after lunch, Mr. Fentolin, you 
will let some of your people telephone to the police- 
station at Wells? There really is an important en- 
quiry respecting this man. I should not be sur- 
prised,” he added, dropping his voice a little for the 
benefit of the servants, ‘‘ to find that Scotland Yard 
needed him on their own account.” 

‘‘ In that case,” Mr. Fentolin remarked, he is 
quite safe, for Sarson tells me there is no chance of his 
being able to travel, at any rate for twenty-four 
hours.” 

Lady Saxthorpe shivered. 

‘‘ Aren’t you afraid to have him in the house? ” she 
asked, “ a man who is really and actually wanted by 
Scotland Yard? When one considers that nothing 
ever happens here except an occasional shipwreck in 
the winter and a flower-show in the summer, it does 


174 the vanished MESSENGER 

sound positively thrilling. I wonder what he has 
done,” 

They discussed the subject of Mr. Dunster’s pos- 
sible iniquities. Meanwhile, a young man carrying 
his hat in his hand had slipped in past the servants 
and was leaning over Mr. Fentolin’s chair. He laid 
two or three sheets of paper upon the table and waited 
while his employer glanced them through and dis- 
missed him with a little nod. 

“ My wireless has been busy this morning,” Mr. 
Fentolin remarked. “We seem to have collected 
about forty messages from different battleships and 
cruisers. There must be a whole squadron barely 
thirty miles out.” 

“ You don’t really think,” Lady Saxthorpe asked, 
“ that there is any fear of war, do you, Mr. Fento- 
lin.? ” 

He answered her with a certain amount of gravity. 

“Who can tell.? The papers this morning were 
bad. This conference at The Hague is still unex- 
plained. France’s attitude in the matter is especially 
mysterious.” 

“ I am a strong supporter of Lord Roberts,” Lord 
Saxthorpe said, “ and I believe in the vital necessity 
of some scheme for national service. At the same 
time, I find it hard to believe that a successful invasion 
of this country is within the bounds of possibility.” 

“ I quite agree with you. Lord Saxthorpe,” Mr. 
Fentolin declared smoothly. “All the same, this 
Hague Conference is a most mysterious affair. The 
papers this morning are ominously silent about the 
fleet. From the tangle of messages we have picked 
up, I should say, without a doubt, that some form of 


THE VANISHED MESSENGER 175 

mobilisation is going on in North Sea. If Lady 
Saxthorpe thinks it warm enough, shall we take our 
coffee upon the terrace ? ” 

“ The terrace, by all means,” her ladyship assented, 
rising from her place. “ What a wonderful man you 
are, Mr. Fentolin, with your wireless telegraphy, and 
your telegraph office in the house, and telephones. 
Does it really amuse you to be so modern? ” 

“ To a certain extent, yes,” Mr. Fentolin sighed, 
as he guided his chair along the hall. “ When uiy 
misfortune first came, I used to speculate a good deal 
upon the Stock Exchange. That was really the 
reason I went in for all these modern appliances.” 

“ And now ? ” she asked. “ What use do you make 
of them now? ” 

Mr. Fentolin smiled quietly. He looked out sea- 
ward, beyond the sky-line, from whence had come to 
him, through the clouds, that tangle of messages. 

“ I like to feel,” he said, “ that the turning wheel 
of life is not altogether out of earshot. I like to dab- 
ble just a little in the knowledge of these things.” 
Lord Saxthorpe came strolling up to them. 

“ You won’t forget to telephone about this guest 
of yours ? ” he asked fussily. 

‘‘ It is already done,” Mr. Fentolin assured him. 
“ My dear sister, why so silent? ” 

Mrs. Fentolin turned slowly towards him. She, 
too, had been standing with her eyes fixed upon the 
distant sea-line. Her face seemed suddenly to have 
aged, her forced vivacity to have departed. Her 
little Pomeranian rubbed against her feet in vain. 
Yet at the sound of Mr. Fentolin’s voice, she seemed to 
come back to herself as though by magic. 


176 THE VANISHED MESSENGER 

‘‘ I was looking where you were looking,” she de- 
clared lightly, ‘‘ just trying to see a little way beyond. 
So silly, isn’t it? Chow-Chow, you bad little dog, 
come and you shall have your dinner.” 

She strolled off, humming a tune to herself. Lord 
Saxthorpe watched her with a shadow upon his plain, 
good-humoured face. 

“ Somehow or other,” he remarked quietly, “ Mrs. 
Fentolin never seems to have got over the loss of her 
husband, does she? How long is it since he died? ” 

“ Eight years,” Mr. Fentolin replied. “ It was 
just six months after my own accident.” 

‘‘ I am losing a great deal of sympathy for you, 
Mr. Fentolin,” Lady Saxthorpe confessed, coming 
over to his side. “ You have so many resources, 
there is so much in life which you can do. You 
paint, as we all know, exquisitely. They tell me 
that you play the violin like a master. You have 
unlimited time for reading, and they say that you 
are one of the greatest living authorities upon the 
politics of Europe. Your morning paper must bring 
you so much that is interesting.” 

“ It is true,” Mr. Fentolin admitted, ‘‘ that I have 
compensations which no one can guess at, compensa- 
tions which appeal to me more as time steals on. 
And yet — ” 

He stopped short. 

‘‘And yet?” Lady Saxthorpe repeated interrog- 
atively. 

Mr. Fentolin was watching Gerald drive golf balls 
from the lawn beneath. He pointed downwards. 

“ I was like that when I was his age,” he said 
quietly. 


CHAPTER XIX 


Mr. Fentolin remained upon the terrace long after 
the departure of his guests. He had found a sunny 
corner out of the wind, and he sat there with a tele- 
scope by his side and a budget of newspapers upon 
his knee. On some pretext or another he had de- 
tained all the others of the household so that they 
formed a little court around him. Even Hamel, 
who had said something about a walk, had been in- 
duced to stop by an appealing glance from Esther. 
Mr. Fentolin was in one of his most loquacious moods. 
For some reason or other, the visit of the Saxthorpes 
seemed to have excited him. He talked continually, 
with the briefest pauses. Every now and then he 
gazed steadily across the marshes through his tele- 
scope. 

“ Lord Saxthorpe,” he remarked, “ has, I must 
confess, greatly excited my curiosity as to the iden- 
tity of our visitor. Such a harmless-looking per- 
son, he seems, to be causing such a commotion. 
Gerald, don’t you feel your responsibility in the mat- 
ter? ” 

‘‘ Yes, sir, I do ! ” Gerald replied, with unexpected 
grimness. “ I feel my responsibility deeply.” 

Mr. Fentolin, who was holding the telescope to 
his eye, touched Hamel on the shoulder. 

“ My young friend,” he said, “ your eyes a/e better 
than mine. You see the road there? Look along it, 


178 THE VANISHED MESSENGER 

between the white posts, as far as you can. What 
do you make of that black speck ” 

Hamel held the telescope to his eye and steadied 
it upon the little tripod stand. 

“ It looks like a horse and trap,” he announced. 

“ Good ! ” Mr. Fentolin declared. “ It seemed so 
to me, but I was not sure. My eyes are weak this 
afternoon. How many people are in the trap? ” 

“ Two,” Hamel answered. “ I can see them dis- 
tinctly now. One man is driving, another is sitting 
by his side. They are coming this way.” 

Mr. Fentolin blew his whistle. Meekins appeared 
almost directly. His master whispered a .word in his 
ear. The man at once departed. 

“ Let me make use of your eyes once more,” Mr. 
Fentolin begged. “ About these two men in the 
trap, Mr. Hamel. Is one of them, by any chance, 
wearing a uniform? ” 

‘‘ They both are,” Hamel replied. “ The man who 
is driving is wearing a peaked hat. He looks like a 
police inspector. The man by his side is an ordinary 
policeman.” 

Mr. Fentolin sighed gently. 

‘‘ It is very interesting,” he said. “ Let us hope 
that we shall not see an arrest under my roof. I 
should feel it a reflection upon my hospitality. I 
trust, I sincerely trust, that this visit does not bode 
any harm to Mr. John P. Dunster.” 

Gerald rose impatiently to his feet and swung 
across the terrace. Mr. Fentolin, however, called 
him back. 

“ Gerald,” he advised, “ better not go away. The 
inspector may desire to ask you questions. You will 


THE VANISHED MESSENGER 179 

have nothing to conceal. It was a natural and de- 
lightful impulse of yours to bring the man who had 
befriended you, and who was your companion in that 
disaster, straight to your own home for treatment 
and care. It was an admirable impulse, my boy. 
You have nothing to be ashamed of.” 

Shall I tell him, too — ” Gerald began. 

‘‘ Be careful, Gerald.” 

Mr. Fentolin’s words seemed to be charged with a 
swi€t, rapier-like note. The boy broke off in his 
speech. He looked at Hamel and was silent. 

“ Dear me,” Mrs. Fentolin mumured, “ I am sure 
there is no need for us to talk about this poor man 
as though anybody had done anything wrong in 
having him here. This, I suppose, must be the 
Inspector Yardley whom Lord Saxthorpe spoke 
of.” 

“ A very intelligent-looking officer, I am sure,” Mr. 
Fentolin remarked. “ Gerald, go and meet him, if 
you please. I should like to speak to him out here.” 

The dog-cart had drawn up at the front door, 
and the inspector had already alighted. Gerald in- 
tervened as he was in the act of questioning the but- 
ler. 

“ Mr. Fentolin would like to speak to you, inspec- 
tor,” he said, if you will come this way.” 

The inspector followed Gerald and saluted the 
little group solemnly. Mr. Fentolin held out his 
hand. 

“ You got my telephone message, inspector? ” he 
asked. 

“We have not received any message that I know of, 
sir,” the inspector replied. “ I have come over here 


i8o THE VANISHED MESSENGER 

in accordance with instructions received from head- 
quarters — in fact from Scotland Yard.” 

“ Quite so,” Mr. Fentolin assented. “ You’ve come 
over, I presume, to make enquiries concerning Mr. 
John P. Dunster? ” 

“ That is the name of the gentleman, sir.” 

“ I only understood to-day from my friend Lord 
Saxthorpe,” Mr. Fentolin continued, “ that Mr. Dun- 
ster was being enquired about as though he had dis- 
appeared. My nephew brought him here after the 
railway accident at Wymondham, since when he has 
been under the care of my own physician. I trust 
that you have nothing serious against him.? ” 

“ My first duty, sir,” the inspector pronounced, 
“ is to see the gentleman in question.” 

‘‘ By all means,” Mr. Fentolin agreed. “ Gerald, 
will you take the inspector up to Mr. Dunster’s 
rooms? Or stop, I will go myself.” 

Mr. Fentolin started his chair and beckoned the 
inspector to follow him. Meekins, who was waiting 
inside the hall, escorted them by means of the lift to 
the second floor. They made their way to Mr. Dun- 
ster’s room. Mr. Fentolin knocked softly at the 
door. It was opened by the nurse. 

‘‘ How is the patient? ” Mr. Fentolin enquired. 

Doctor Sarson appeared from the interior of the 
room. 

“ Still unconscious,” he reported. “ Otherwise, the 
symptoms are favourable. He is quite unflt,” the 
doctor added, looking steadily at the inspector, “ to 
be removed or questioned.” 

“ There is no idea of anything of the sort,” Mr. 
Fentolin explained. “ It is Inspector Yardley’s duty 


THE VANISHED MESSENGER i8i 

to satisfy himself that Mr. Dunster is here. It is 
necessary for the inspector to see your patient, so 
that he can make his report at headquarters.” 

Doctor Sarson bowed. 

“ That is quite simple, sir,” he said. “ Please step 
in.” 

They all entered the room, which was large and 
handsomely furnished. Through the open windows 
came a gentle current of fresh air, Mr. Dunster lay 
in the midst of all the luxury of fine linen sheets and 
embroidered pillow-cases. The inspector looked at 
him stolidly. 

Is he asleep ? ” he asked. 

The doctor shook his head. 

“ It is the third day of his concussion,” he whis- 
pered. He is still unconscious. He will remain in 
the same condition for another two days. After that 
he will begin to recover.” 

Mr. Fentolin touched the inspector on the arm. 

“ You see his clothing at the foot of the bed,” he 
pointed out. “ His linen is marked with his name. 
That is his dressing-case with his name painted on 
it.” 

“ I am quite satisfied, sir,” the inspector announced. 
“ I will not intrude any further.” 

They left the room. Mr. Fentolin himself escorted 
the inspector into the library and ordered whisky 
and cigars. 

‘‘ I don’t know whether I am unreasonably curious,” 
Mr. Fentolin remarked, “ but is it really true that 
you have had enquiries from Scotland Yard about 
the poor fellow up-stairs ? ” 

“ We had a very important enquiry indeed, sir,” 


i 82 the vanished MESSENGER 

the inspector replied. “ I have instructions to tele- 
graph all I have been able to discover, immediately.” 

“Pardon my putting it plainly,” Mr. Fentolin 
asked, “ but is our friend a criminal? ” 

“ I wouldn’t go so far as that, sir,” the inspector 
answered. “ I know of no charge against him. I 
don’t know that I have the right to say so much,” 
he added, sipping his whisky and soda, “ but put- 
ting two and two together, I should rather come to 
the conclusion that he was a person of some political 
importance.” 

“Not a criminal at all? ” 

“ Not as I know of,” the inspector assented. 
“ That isn’t the way I read the enquiries at all.” 

“ You relieve me,” Mr. Fentolin declared. “ Now 
what about his possessions?” 

“ There’s a man coming down shortly from Scot- 
land Yard,” the inspector announced, a little gloom- 
ily. “ My orders were to touch nothing, but to locate 
him.” 

“ Well, you’ve succeeded so far,” Mr. Fentolin re- 
marked. “ Here he is, and here I think he will stay 
until some days after your friend from Scotland 
Yard can get here.” 

“ It does seem so, indeed,” the inspector agreed. 
“ To me he looks terrible ill. But there’s one thing 
sure, he’s having all the care and attention that’s 
possible. And now, sir. I’ll not intrude further upon 
your time. I’ll just make my report, and you’ll 
probably have a visit from the Scotland Yard man 
sometime within the next few days.” 

Mr. Fentolin escorted the inspector to his dog-cart, 
shook hands with him, and watched him drive off. 


THE VANISHED MESSENGER 183 

Only Mrs. Seymour Fentolin remained upon the ter- 
race. He glided over to her side. 

‘‘ My dear Florence,” he asked, “ where are the 
others ? ” 

“ Mr. Hamel and Esther have gone for a walk,” 
she answered. ‘‘ Gerald has disappeared somewhere. 
Has anything — is everything all right ” 

“ Naturally,” Mr. Fentolin replied easily. “ All 
that the inspector desired was to see Mr. Dunster. 
He has seen him. The poor fellow was unfortunately 
unconscious, but our friend will at least be able to 
report that he was in good hands and well cared for.” 

“ Unconscious,” Mrs. Fentolin repeated. “ I 
thought that he was better.” 

“ One is always subject to those slight relapses in 
an affair of concussion,” Mr. Fentolin explained. 

Mrs. Fentolin laid down her work and leaned a 
little towards her brother-in-law. Her hand rested 
upon his. Her voice had fallen to a whisper. 

“ Miles,” she said, ‘‘ forgive me, but are you sure 
that you are not getting a little out of your depth? 
Remember that there are some risks which are not 
worth while.” 

‘‘ Quite true,” he answered. And there are some 
risks, my dear Florence, which are worth every drop 
of blood in a man’s body, and every breath of life. 
The peace of Europe turns upon that man up-stairs. 
It is worth taking a little risk for, worth a little 
danger. I have made my plans, and I mean to carry 
them through. Tell me, when I was up-stairs, this 
fellow Hamel — was he talking confidentially to Ger- 
ald? ” 

“ Not particularly.” 


i 84 the vanished MESSENGER 

“ I am not sure that I trust him,” Mr. Fentolin 
continued. “ He had a telegram yesterday from a 
man in the Foreign Office, a telegram which I did not 
see. He took the trouble to walk three miles to send 
the reply to it from another office.” 

“ But after all,” Mrs. Fentolin protested, “ you 
know who he is. You know that he is Peter Hamel’s 
son. He had a definite purpose in coming here.” 

Mr. Fentolin nodded. 

‘‘ Quite true,” he admitted. ‘‘ But for that, Mr. 
Hamel would have found a little trouble before now. 
As it is, he must be watched. If any one comes be- 
tween me and the things for which I am scheming 
to-day, they will risk death.” 

Mrs. Fentolin sighed. She was watching the fig- 
ures of Esther and Hamel far away in the distance, 
picking their way across the last strip of marshl^fnd 
which lay between them and the sea. 

“ Miles,” she said earnestly, “ you take advice from 
no one. You will go your own way, I know. And 
yet, it seems to me that life holds so many compensa- 
tions for you without your taking these terrible risks. 
I am not thinking of any one else. I am not pleading 
to you for the sake of any one else. I am thinking 
only of yourself. I have had a sort of feeling ever 
since this man was brought into the house, that 
trouble would come of it. To me the trouble seems 
to be gathering even now.” 

Mr. Fentolin laughed softly, a little contemptu- 
ously. 

“ Presentiments,” he scoffed, “ are the excuses of 
cowards. Don’t be afraid, Florence. Remember al- 
ways that I look ahead. Do you think that I could 


THE VANISHED MESSENGER 185 

stay here contented with what you call my compensa- 
tions — my art, the study of beautiful things, the 
calm epicureanism of the sedate and simple life? You 
know very well that I could not do that. The craving 
for other things is in my heart and blood. The ex- 
citement which I cannot have in one way, I must find 
in another, and I think that before many nights have 
passed, I shall lie on my pillow and hear the guns 
roar, hear the footsteps of the great armies of the 
world moving into battle. It is for that I live, 
Florence.” 

She took up her knitting again. Her eyes were 
fixed upon the sky-line. Twice she opened her lips, 
but twice no words came. 

“You understand?” he whispered. “You begin 
to understand, don’t you ? ” 

She looked at him only for a moment and back at 
her work. 

“ I suppose so,” she sighed. 


CHAPTER XX 


In the middle of that night Hamel sat up in bed, 
awakened with a sudden start by some sound, only the 
faintest echo of which remained in his consciousness. 
His nerves were tingling with a sense of excitement. 
He sat up in bed and listened. Suddenly it came 
again — a long, low moan of pain, stifled at the end 
as though repressed by some outside agency. He 
leaped from his bed, hurried on a few clothes, and 
stepped out on to the landing. The cry had seemed 
to him to come from the further end of the long cor- 
ridor — in the direction, indeed, of the room where 
Mr. Dunster lay. He made his way there, walking 
on tiptoe, although his feet fell noiselessly upon the 
thick carpet. A single light was burning from a 
bracket in the wall, insufficient to illuminate the empty 
spaces, but enough to keep him from stumbling. The 
corridor towards the south end gradually widened, 
terminating in a splendid high window with stained 
glass, a broad seat, and a table. On the right, the 
end room was Mr. Dunster’s apartment, and on the 
left a flight of stairs led to the floor above. Hamel 
stood quite still, listening. There was a light in the 
room, as he could see from under the door, but there 
was no sound of any one moving. Hamel listened in- 
tently, every sense strained. Then the sound of a 
stair creaking behind diverted his attention. He 
looked quickly around. Gerald was descending. 


THE VANISHED MESSENGER 187 

The boy’s face was white, and his eyes were filled with 
fear. Hamel stepped softly back from the door and 
met him at the foot of the stairs. 

“Did you hear that cry?” he whispered. 

Gerald nodded. 

“ It woke me up. What do you suppose it was ? ” 

Hamel shook his head. 

“ Some one in pain,” he replied. “ I don’t under- 
stand it. It came from this room.” 

“ You know who sleeps there? ” Gerald asked 
hoarsely. 

Hamel nodded. 

“ A man with concussion of the brain doesn’t cry 
out like that. Besides, did you hear the end of it? 
It sounded as though some one were choking him. 
Hush! ” 

They had spoken only in bated breath, but the 
door of the room before which they were standing 
was suddenly opened. Meekins stood there, fully 
dressed, his dark, heavy face full of somber warning. 
He started a little as he saw the two whispering to- 
gether. Gerald addressed him almost apologetically. 

“ We both heard the same sound, Meekins. Is any 
one ill? It sounded like some one in pain.” 

The man hesitated. Then from behind his shoulder 
came Mr. Fentolin’s still, soft voice. There was a 
little click, and Meekins, as though obeying an un- 
seen gesture, stepped back. Mr. Fentolin glided on 
to the threshold. He was still dressed. He pro- 
pelled his chair a few yards down the corridor and 
beckoned them to approach. 

“ I am so sorry,” he said softly, “ that you should 
have been disturbed, Mr. Hamel. We have been a 


i88 THE VANISHED MESSENGER 

little anxious about our mysterious guest. Doctor 
Sarson fetched me an hour ago. He discovered that 
it was necessary to perform a very slight operation, 
merely the extraction of a splinter of wood. It is all 
over now, and I think that he will do very well.” 

Notwithstanding this very plausible explanation, 
Hamel was conscious of the remains of an uneasiness 
which he scarcely knew how to put into words. 

“ It was a most distressing cry,” he observed doubt- 
fully, “ a cry of fear as well as of pain.” 

‘‘ Poor fellow ! ” Mr. Fentolin remarked compas- 
sionately. “ I am afraid that for a moment or two 
he must have suffered acutely. Doctor Sarson is 
very clever, however, and there is no doubt that what 
he did was for the best. His opinion is that by 
to-morrow morning there will be a marvellous change. 
Good night, Mr. Hamel. I am quite sure that you 
will not be disturbed again.” 

Hamel neither felt nor showed any disposition to 
depart. 

“ Mr. Fentolin,” he said, ‘‘ I hope that you will 
not think that I am officious or in any way abusing 
your hospitality, but I cannot help suggesting that 
as Dr. Sarson is purely your household physician, 
the relatives of this man Dunster might be better 
satisfied if some second opinion were called in. Might 
I suggest that you telephone to Norwich for a sur- 
geon ? ” 

Mr. Fentolin showed no signs of displeasure. He 
was silent for a moment, as though considering the 
matter. 

“ I am not at all sure, Mr. Hamel, that you are 
not right,” he admitted frankly. “ I believe that the 


THE VANISHED MESSENGER 189 

case is quite a simple one, but on the other hand it 
would perhaps be more satisfactory to have an out- 
side opinion. If Mr. Dunster is not conscious in the 
morning, we will telephone to the Norwich Infirm- 
ary.” 

“ I think it would be advisable,” Hamel agreed. 

‘‘ Good night ! ” Mr. Fentolin said once more. I 
am sorry that your rest has been disturbed.” 

Hamel, however, still refused to take the hint. 
His eyes were fixed upon that closed door. 

‘‘ Mr. Fentolin,” he asked, “ have you any ob- 
jection to my seeing Mr. Dunster.^ ” 

There was a moment’s intense silence. A sudden 
light had burned in Mr. Fentolin’s eyes. His fingers 
gripped the side of his chair. Yet when he spoke 
there were no signs of anger in his tone. It was a 
marvellous effort of self-control. 

“ There is no reason, Mr. Hamel,” he said, “ why 
your curiosity should not be gratified. Knock softly 
at the door, Gerald.” 

The boy obeyed. In a moment or two Doctor 
Sarson appeared on the threshold. 

“ Our guest, Mr. Hamel,” Mr. Fentolin explained 
in a whisper, “ has been awakened by this poor fel- 
low’s cry. He would like to see him for a moment.” 

Doctor Sarson opened the door. They all passed 
in on tiptoe. The doctor led the way towards the 
bed upon which Mr. Dunster was lying, quite still. 
His head was bandaged, and his eyes closed. His 
face was ghastly. Gerald gave vent to a little mut- 
tered exclamation. Mr. Fentolin turned to him 
quickly. 

“ Gerald!” 


igo THE VANISHED MESSENGER 

The boy stood still, trembling, speechless. Mr. 
Fentolin’s eyes were riveted upon him. The doctor 
was standing, still and dark, a motionless image. 

“ Is he asleep ? ” Hamel asked. 

“ He is under the influence of a mild anaesthetic,” 
Doctor Sarson explained. ‘‘He is doing very well. 
His case is quite simple. By to-morrow morning he 
will be able to sit up and walk about if he wishes to.” 

Hamel looked steadily at the figure upon the bed. 
Mr. Dunster’s breathing was regular, and his eyes 
were closed, but his colour was ghastly. 

“ He doesn’t look like getting up for a good many 
days to come,” Hamel observed. 

The doctor led the way towards the door, 

“ The man has a fine constitution,” he said. “ I 
feel sure that if you wish you will be able to talk to 
him to-morrow.” 

They separated outside in the passage. Mr. Fen- 
tolin bade his guest a somewhat restrained good 
night, and Gerald mounted the staircase to his room. 
Hamel, however, had scarcely reached his door be- 
fore Gerald reappeared. He had descended the stair- 
case at the other end of the corridor. He stood for 
a moment looking down the passage. The doors 
were all closed. Even the light had been extinguished. 

“ May I come in for a moment, please.'^ ” he whis- 
pered. 

Hamel nodded. 

“ With pleasure ! Come in and have a cigarette, 
if you will. I shan’t feel like sleep for some time.” 

They entered the room, and Gerald threw himself 
into an easy-chair near the window. Hamel wheeled 
up another chair and produced a box of cigarettes. 


THE VANISHED MESSENGER igi 

Queer thing your dropping across that fellow in 
the way you did,” he remarked. “ Just shows how 
one may disappear from the world altogether, and no 
one be a bit the wiser.” 

The boy was sitting with folded arms. His ex- 
pression was one of deep gloom. 

“ I only wish I’d never brought him here,” he mut- 
tered. “ I ought to have known better.” 

Hamel raised his eyebrows. 

‘‘Isn’t he as well off here as anywhere else.?” 

“ Do you think that he is ? ” Gerald demanded, look- 
ing across at Hamel. 

There was a brief silence. 

“ We can scarcely do your uncle the injustice,” 
Hamel remarked, “ of imagining that he can possibly 
have any reason or any desire to deal with that man 
except as a guest.” 

“ Do you really believe that.? ” Gerald asked. 

Hamel rose to his feet. 

“ Look here, young man,” he said, “ this is getting 
serious. You and I are at cross-purposes. If you 
like, you shadl have the truth from me.” 

“ Go on.” 

“ I was warned about your uncle before I came 
down into this part of the world,” Hamel continued 
quietly. “ I was told that he is a dangerous conspir- 
ator, a man who sticks at nothing to gain his ends, 
a person altogether out of place in these days. It 
sounds melodramatic, but I had it straight from a 
friend. Since I have been here, I have had a tele- 
gram — you brought it to me yourself — asking for 
information about this man Dunster. It wa5 I who 
wired to London that he was here. It was through 


192 THE VANISHED MESSENGER 

me that Scotland Yard communicated with the police- 
station at Wells, through me that a man is to be sent 
down from London. I didn’t come here as a spy — 
don’t think that; I was coming here, anyhow. On 
the other hand, I believe that your uncle is playing 
a dangerous game. I am going to have Mr. John P. 
Dunster put in charge of a Norwich physician to- 
morrow.” 

“ Thank Gcfd ! ” the boy murmured. 

“ Look here,” Hamel continued, “ what are you 
doing in this business, anyway.^ You are old enough 
to know your own mind and to go your own way.” 

“ You say that because you don’t know,” Gerald 
declared bitterly. 

“ In a sense I don’t,” Hamel admitted, “ and yet 
your sister hinted to me only this afternoon that 
you and she — ” 

“ Oh, I know what she told you ! ” the boy inter- 
rupted. “ We’ve worn the chains for the last eight 
years. They are breaking her. They’ve broken my 
mother. Sometimes I think they are breaking me. 
But, you know, there comes a time — there comes a 
time when one can’t go on. I’ve seen some strange 
things here, some that I’ve half understood, some that 
I haven’t understood at all. I’ve closed my eyes. 
I’ve kept my promise. I’ve done his bidding, wher- 
ever it has led me. But you know there is a time — 
there is a limit to all things. I can’t go on. I spied 
on this man Dunster. I brought him here. It is I 
who am responsible for anything that may happen to 
him. It’s the last time ! ” 

Gerald’s face was white with pain. Hamel laid his 
hand upon his shoulder. 


THE VANISHED MESSENGER 193 

“ My boy,” he said, ‘‘ there are worse things in the 
world than breaking a promise. When you gave it, 
the conditions which were existing at the time made 
it, perhaps, a right and reasonable undertaking, but 
sometimes the whole of the conditions under which 
a promise was given, change. Then one must have 
courage enough to be false even to one’s word.” 

“ Have you talked to my sister like that.? ” Gerald 
asked eagerly. 

“ I have and I will again,” Hamel declared. “ To- 
morrow morning I leave this house, but before I go 
I mean to have the affair of this man Dunster cleared 
up. Your uncle will be very angry with me, without 
a doubt. I don’t care. But I do want you to trust 
me, if you will, and your sister. I should like to 
be your friend.” 

“ God knows we need one ! ” the boy said' simply. 
“ Good night ! ” 

Once more the house was quiet. Hamel pushed 
his window wide open and looked out into the night. 
The air was absolutely still, there was no wind. The 
only sound was the falling of the low waves upon the 
stony beach and the faint scrunching of the peb- 
bles drawn back by the ebb. He looked along the 
row of windows, all dark and silent now. A rush of 
pleasant fancies suddenly chased away the grim de- 
pression of the last few minutes. Out of all this sor- 
didness and mystery there remained at least some- 
thing in life for him to do. A certain aimlessness 
of purpose which had troubled him during the last 
few months had disappeared. He had found an ob- 
ject in life. 


CHAPTER XXI 


“ To-day,” Hamel declared, as he stood at the 
sideboard the following morning at breakfast-time 
and helped himself to bacon and eggs, “ I am posi- 
tively going to begin reading. I have a case full of 
books down at the Tower which I haven’t unpacked 
yet.” 

Esther made a little grimace. 

“ Look at the sunshine,” she said. ‘‘ There isn’t 
a breath of wind, either. I think to-day that I could 
play from the men’s tees.” 

Hamel sighed as he returned to his place. 

« My good intentions are already half dissipated,” 
he admitted. 

She laughed. 

‘‘How can we attack the other half? ” she asked. 

Gerald, who was also on his way to the sideboard, 
suddenly stopped. 

“ Hullo ! ” he exclaimed, looking out of the win- 
dow. “Who’s going away this morning, I wonder? 
There’s the Rolls-Royce at the door.” 

Hamel, too, rose once more to his feet. The two 
exchanged swift glances. Moved by a common 
thought, they both started for the door, only to find 
it suddenly opened before them. Mr. Fentolin glided 
into the room. 

“ Uncle ! ” Gerald exclaimed. 

Mr. Fentolin glanced keenly around the room. 


THE VANISHED MESSENGER 195 

“ Good morning, everybody,” he said. “ My ap- 
pearance at this hour of the morning naturally sur- 
prises you. As a matter of fact, I have been up for 
quite a long time. Esther dear, give me some coffee, 
will you, and be sure that it is hot. If any of you 
want to say good-by to Mr. John P. Dunster, you’d 
better hurry out.” 

‘‘ You mean that he is going? ” Hamel asked in- 
credulously. 

“ He is going,” Mr. Fentolin admitted. “ I wash 
my hands of the man. He has given us an infinite 
amount of trouble, has monopolised Doctor Sarson 
when he ought to have been attending upon me — 
a little more hot milk, if you please, Esther — and 
now, although he really is not fit to leave his room, 
he insists upon hurrying off to keep an appointment 
somewhere on the Continent. The little operation 
we spoke of last night was successful, as Doctor Sar- 
son prophesied, and Mr. Dunster was quite con- 
scious and able to sit up early this morning. We 
telephoned at six o’clock to Norwich for a surgeon, 
who is now on his way over here, but he will not wait 
even to see him. What can you do with a man so 
obstinate ! ” 

Neither Hamel nor Gerald had resumed their places. 
The former, after a moment’s hesitation, turned to- 
wards the door. 

“ I think,” he said, “ that I should like to see the 
last of Mr. Dunster.” 

“ Pray do,” Mr. Fentolin begged. “ I have said 
good-by to him myself, and all that I hope is that 
next time you offer a wayfarer the hospitality of 
St. David’s Hall, Gerald, he may be a more trac- 


196 THE VANISHED MESSENGER 

table person. This morning I shall give myself a 
treat. I shall eat an old-fashioned English breakfast. 
Close the door after you, if you please, Gerald.” 

Hamel, with Gerald by his side, hurried out into 
the hall. Just as they crossed the threshold they 
saw Mr. Dunster, wrapped from head to foot in his 
long ulster, a soft hat upon his head and one of Mr. 
Fentolin’s cigars in his mouth, step from the bottom 
stair into the hall and make his way with somewhat 
uncertain footsteps towards the front door. Doc- 
tor Sarson walked on one side, and Meekins held him 
by the arm. He glanced towards Gerald and his 
companion and waved the hand which held his cigar. 

“ So long, my young friend ! ” he exclaimed. 
“ You see, I’ve got them to let me make a start. 
Next time we go about the country in a saloon car 
together, I hope we’ll have better luck. Say, but 
I’m groggy about the knees ! ” 

‘‘ You’d better save your breath,” Doctor Sarson 
advised him grimly. “ You haven’t any to spare 
now, and you’ll want more than you have before you 
get to the end of your journey. Carefully down the 
steps, mind.” 

They helped him into the car. Hamel and Gerald 
stood under the great stone portico, watching. 

“Well, I’m jiggered!” the boy exclaimed, under 
his breath. 

Hamel was watching the proceedings with a puzzled 
frown. To his surprise, neither Doctor Sarson nor 
Meekins were accompanying the departing man. 

“ He’s off, right enough,” Hamel declared, as the 
car glided away. “ Do you understand it ? I don’t.” 

Gerald did not speak for several moments. His 


THE VANISHED MESSENGER 197 

eyes were still fixed upon the back of the disappearing 
car. Then he turned towards Hamel. 

“ There isn’t much,” he said softly, “ that Mr. 
Fentolin doesn’t know. If that detective was really 
on his way here, there wasn’t any chance of keeping 
Mr. Dunster to himself. You see, the whole story 
is common property. And yet, there’s something 
about the affair that bothers me.” 

“ And me,” Hamel admitted, watching the car until 
it became a speck in the distance. 

“ He was fairly well cornered,” Gerald concluded, 
as they made their way back to the dining-room, 
‘‘ but it isn’t like him to let go of anything so 
easily.” 

“ So you’ve seen the last of our guest,” Mr. Fen- 
tolin remarked, as Hamel and Gerald re-entered the 
dining-room. “ A queer fellow — almost a new type 
to me. Dogged and industrious, I should think. He 
hadn’t the least right to travel, you know, and I 
think so long as we had taken the trouble to telephone 
to Norwich, he might have waited to see the physi- 
cian. Sarson was very angry about it, but what can 
you do with these fellows who are never ill.^^ They 
scarcely know what physical disability means. Well, 
Mr. Hamel, and how are you going to amuse your- 
self to-day ” 

“ I had thought of commencing some reading I 
brought with me,” Hamel replied, “ but Miss Esther 
has challenged me to another game of golf.” 

Excellent ! ” Mr. Fentolin declared. “ It is very 
kind of you indeed, Mr. Hamel. It is always a matter 
of regret for me that society in these parts is so re- 
stricted. My nephew and niece have little oppor- 


igS THE VANISHED MESSENGER 

tunity for enjoying themselves. Play golf with Mr. 
Hamel, by all means, my dear child,” he continued, 
turning to his niece. ‘‘ Make the most of this glo- 
rious spring weather. And what about you, Gerald? 
What are you doing to-day ? ” 

“ I haven’t made up my mind yet, sir,” the boy 
replied. 

Mr. Fentolin sighed. 

“ Always that lack of initiative,” he remarked. 
“ A lack of initiative is one of your worst faults, I 
am afraid, dear Gerald.” 

The boy looked up quickly. For a moment it 
seemed as though he were about to make a fierce re- 
ply. He met Mr. Fentolin’s steady gaze, however, 
and the words died away upon his lips. 

“ I rather thought,” he said, “ of going into Nor- 
wich, if you could spare me. Captain Holt has asked 
me to lunch at the Barracks.” 

Mr. Fentolin shook his head gently. 

“ It is most unfortunate,” he declared. “ I have 
a commission for you later in the day.” 

Gerald continued his breakfast in silence. He bent 
over his plate so that his face was almost invisible. 
Mr. Fentolin was peeling a peach. A servant entered 
the room. 

Lieutenant Godfrey, sir,” he announced. 

They all looked up. A trim, clean-shaven, hard- 
featured young man in naval uniform was standing 
upon the threshold. He bowed to Esther. 

“ Very sorry to intrude, sir, at this hour of the 
morning,” he said briskly. ‘‘ Lieutenant Godfrey, 
my name. I am flag lieutenant of the Britannia. 
You can’t see her, but she’s not fifty miles off at this 


THE VANISHED MESSENGER 199 

minute. I landed at Sheringham this morning, hired 
a car and made the best of my way here. Message 
from the Admiral, sir.” 

Mr. Fentolin smiled genially. 

“We are delighted to see you. Lieutenant God- 
frey,” he said. “ Have some breakfast.” 

“ You are very good, sir,” the officer answered. 
“ Business first. I’ll breakfast afterwards, with 
pleasure, if I may. The Admiral’s compliments, and 
he would take it as a favour if you would haul down 
your wireless for a few days.” 

“ Haul down my wireless,” Mr. Fentolin repeated 
slowly. 

“We are doing a lot of manoeuvring within range 
of you, and likely to do a bit more,” the young man 
explained. “ You are catching up our messages all 
the time. Of course, we know they’re quite safe with 
you, but things get about. As yours is only a 
private installation, we’d like you, if you don’t mind, 
sir, to shut up shop for a few days.” 

Mr. Fentolin seemed puzzled. 

“ But, my dear sir,” he protested, “ we are not at 
war, are we.? ” 

“ Not yet,” the young officer replied, “ but God 
knows when we shall be! We are under sealed or- 
ders, anyway, and we don’t want any risk of our 
plans leaking out. That’s why we want your wire- 
less disconnected.” 

“ You need say no more,” Mr. Fentolin assured 
him. “ The matter is already arranged. Esther, 
let me present Lieutenant Godfrey — my niece. Miss 
Fentolin; Mr. Gerald Fentolin, my nephew; Mr. 
Hamel, a guest. See that Lieutenant Godfrey has 


200 THE VANISHED MESSENGER 

some breakfast, Gerald. I will go myself and see 
my Marconi operator.” 

“ Awfully good of you, sir,” the young man de- 
clared, “ and I am sure we are very sorry to trouble 
you. In a week or two’s time you can go into busi- 
ness again as much as you like. It’s only while we 
are fiddling around here that the Admiral’s jumpy 
about things. May my man have a cup of coffee, 
sir.f^ I’d like to be on the way back in a quarter of 
an hour.” 

Mr. Fentolin halted his chair by the side of the 
bell, and rang it. 

“ Pray make use of my house as your own, sir,” 
he said gravely. “ From what you leave unsaid, I 
gather that things are more serious than the papers 
would have us believe. Under those circumstances, 
I need not assure you that any help we can render 
is entirely yours.” 

Mr. Fentolin left the room. Lieutenant Godfrey 
was already attacking his breakfast. Gerald leaned 
towards him eagerly. 

“ Is there really going to be war? ” he de- 
manded. 

“ Ask those chaps at The Hague,” Lieutenant 
Godfrey answered. “ Doing their best to freeze us 
out, or something. All I know is, if there’s going to 
be fighting, we are ready for them. By-the-by, what 
have you got wireless telegraphy for here, any- 
way? ” 

“ It’s a fad of my uncle’s,” Gerald replied. 
“ Since his accident he amuses himself in all sorts of 
queer ways.” 

Lieutenant Godfrey nodded. 


THE VANISHED MESSENGER 201 


“ Poor fellow ! ” he said. “ I heard he was a 
cripple, or something of the sort. Forgive my ask- 
ing, but — you people are English, aren’t you ? ” 
Rather ! ” Gerald answered. “ The Fentolins 
have lived here for hundreds of years. Why do 
you ask that ? ” 

Lieutenant Godfrey hesitated. He looked, for the 
moment, scarcely at his ease. 

“ Oh, I don’t know,” he replied. “ The old man 
was very anxious I should find out. You see, a lot 
of information seems to have got over on the other 
side, and we couldn’t think where it had leaked out, 
except through your wireless. However, that isn’t 
likely, of course, unless you’ve got one of these beastly 
Germans in your receiving-room. Now if I can bor- 
row a cigarette, a cigar, or a pipe of tobacco — any 
mortal thing to smoke — I’ll be off, if I may. The 
old man turned me out at an unearthly hour this 
morning, and in Sheringham all the shops were closed. 
Steady on, young fellow,” he laughed, ajs Gerald 
filled his pockets with cigarettes. “ Well, here’s 
good morning to you. Miss Fentolin. Good morn- 
ing, sir. How long ought it to take me to get to 
Sheringham? ” 

“ About forty minutes,” Gerald told him, ^ if your 
car’s any good at all.” 

It isn’t much,” was the somewhat dubious re- 
ply. “ However, we’ll shove along. You in the 
Service? ” he enquired, as they walked down the haJl 
together. 

“ Hope I shall be before long,” Gerald answered. 
“ I’m going into the army, though.” 

“ Have to hurry up, won’t you? ” 


202 THE VANISHED MESSENGER 

Gerald sighed. 

“ It’s a little difficult for me. Here’s your car. 
Good luck to you ! ” 

‘‘ My excuses to Mr. Fentolin,” Lieutenant God- 
frey shouted, ‘‘ and many thanks.” 

He jumped into the automobile and was soon on 
his way back. Gerald watched him until he was 
nearly out of sight. On the knoll, two of the wireless 
operators were already at work. Mr. Fentolin sat 
in his chair below, watching. The blue sparks were 
flashing. A message was just being delivered. Pres- 
ently Mr. Fentolin turned his chair, and with Meekins 
by his side, made his way back to the house. He 
passed along the hall and into his study. Gerald, 
who was on his way to the dining-room, heard the ring 
of the telephone bell and the call for the trunk spe- 
cial line. He hesitated for a moment. Then he made 
his way slowly down towards the study and stood 
outside the door, listening. In a moment he heard 
Mr. Fentolin’s clear voice, very low yet very pene- 
trating. 

“ The Mediterranean Fleet will be forty-seven 
hours before it comes together,” was the message he 
heard. “ The Channel Fleet will manoeuvre off 
Sheemess, waiting for it. The North Sea Fleet is 
seventeen units under nominal strength.” 

Gerald turned the handle of the door slowly and 
entered. Mr. Fentolin was just replacing the re- 
ceiver on its stand. He looked up at his nephew, 
and his eyebrows came together. 

“ What do you mean by this ? ” he demanded. 
“ Don’t you know that I allow no one in here when 
I am telephoning on the private wire.^^ ” 


THE VANISHED MESSENGER 203 

Gerald closed the door behind him and summoned 
up all his courage. 

“ It is because I have heard what you were say- 
ing over the telephone that I am here,” he declared. 
“ I want to know to whom you were sending that 
message which you have intercepted outside.” 


CHAPTER XXII 


Mr. Fentolin sat for a moment in his chair with 
immovable face. Then he pointed to the door, which 
Gerald had left open behind him. 

“ Close that door, Gerald.” 

The boy obeyed. Mr. Fentolin waited until he 
had turned around again. 

“ Come and stand over here by the side of the ta- 
ble,” he directed. 

Gerald came without hesitation. He stood before 
his uncle with folded arms. There was something 
else besides sullenness in his face this morning, some- 
thing which Mr. Fentolin was quick to recognise. 

“ I do not quite understand the nature of your 
question, Gerald,” Mr. Fentolin began. “ It is un- 
like you. You do not seem yourself. Is there any- 
thing in particular the matter.? ” 

“ Only this,” Gerald answered firmly. ‘‘ I don’t 
understand why this naval fellow should come here 
and ask you to close up your wireless because secrets 
have been leaking out, and a few moments afterwards 
you should be picking up a message and telephoning 
to London information which was surely meant to be 
private. That’s all. I’ve come to ask you about it.” 

“ You heard the message, then.? ” 

« I did.” 

“ You listened — at the keyhole? ” 

“ I listened outside,” Gerald assented doggedly. 


THE VANISHED MESSENGER 205 

“ I am glad I listened. Do you mind answering my 
question ? ” 

‘‘ Do I mind ! ” Mr. Fentolin repeated softly. 
“ Really, Gerald, your politeness, your consideration, 
your good manners, astound me. I am positively de- 
prived of the power of speech.” 

‘‘ I’ll wait here till it comes to you again, then,” 
the boy declared bluntly. “ I’ve waited on you hand 
and foot, done dirty work for you, put up with your 
ill-humours and your tyranny, and never grumbled. 
But there is a limit! You’ve made a poor sort of 
creature of me, but even the worm turns, you know. 
When it comes to giving away secrets about the move- 
ments of our navy at a time when we are almost at 
war, I strike.” 

“ Melodramatic, almost dramatic, but, alas ! so in- 
accurate,” Mr. Fentolin sighed. “ Is this a fit of 
the heroics, boy, or what has come over you.? Have 
you by any chance — forgotten.?” 

Mr. Fentolin’s voice seemed suddenly to have 
grown in volume. His eyes dilated, he himself 
seemed to have grown in size. Gerald stepped a 
little back. He was trembling, but his expression 
had not changed. 

“No, I haven’t forgotten. There’s a great debt 
we are doing our best to pay, but there’s such a 
thing as asking too much, there’s such a thing as 
drawing the cords to snapping point. I’m speak- 
ing for Esther and mother as well as myself. We 
have been your slaves; in a way I suppose we are 
willing to go on being your slaves. It’s the burden 
that Fate has placed around our necks, and we’ll 
go through with it. All I want to point out is that 


2o6 the vanished MESSENGER 

there are limits, and it seems to me that we are up 
against them now.” 

Mr. Fentolin nodded. He had the air of a man 
who wishes to be reasonable. 

“ You are very young, my boy,” he said, ‘‘ very 
young indeed. Perhaps that is my fault for not 
having let you see more of the world. You have got 
some very queer ideas into your head. A little too 
much novel reading lately, eh? I might treat you 
differently. I might laugh at you and send you 
out of the room. I won’t. I’ll tell you what you 
ask. I’ll explain what you find so mysterious. The 
person to whom I have been speaking is my stock- 
broker.” 

“Your stockbroker!” Gerald exclaimed. 

Mr. Fentolin nodded. 

“ Mr. Bayliss,” he continued, “ of the firm of Bay- 
liss, Hundercombe & Dunn, Throgmorton Court. 
Mr. Bayliss is a man of keen perceptions. He un- 
derstands exactly the effect of certain classes of 
news upon the market. The message which I have 
just sent to him is practically common property. 
It will be in the Daily Mail to-morrow morning. 
The only thing is that I have sent it to him just a 
few minutes sooner than any one else can get it. 
There is a good deal of value in that, Gerald. I do 
not mind telling you that I have made a large for- 
tune through studying the political situation and 
securing advance information upon matters of this 
sort. That fortune some day will probably be yours. 
It will be you who will benefit. Meanwhile, I am 
enriching myself and doing no one any harm.” 

“ But how do you know,” Gerald persisted, “ that 


THE VANISHED MESSENGER 207 

this message would ever have found its way to the 
Press? It was simply a message from one battle- 
ship to another. It was not intended to be picked 
up on land. There is no other installation but 
ours that could have picked it up. Besides, it was 
in code. I know that you have the code, but the 
others haven’t.” 

Mr. Fentolin yawned slightly. 

“ Ingenious, my dear Gerald, but inaccurate. 
You do not know that the message was in code, and 
in any case it was liable to be picked up by any 
steamer within the circle. You really do treat me, 
my boy, rather as though I were a weird, mischief- 
making person with a talent for intrigue and crime 
of every sort. Look at your suspicions last night. 
I believe that you and Mr. Hamel had quite made 
up your minds that I meant evil things for Mr. John 
P. Dunster. Well, I had my chance. You saw him 
depart.” 

“ What about his papers ? ” 

“ I will admit,” Mr. Fentolin replied, “ that I 
read his papers. They were of no great conse- 
quence, however, and he has taken them away with 
him. Mr. Dunster, as a matter of fact, turned 
out to be rather a mare’s-nest. Now, come, since 
you are here, finish everything you have to say to 
me. I am not angry. I am willing to listen quite 
reasonably.” 

Gerald shook his head. 

“Oh, I can’t!” he declared bitterly. “You al- 
ways get the best of it. I’ll only ask you one more 
question. Are you having the wireless hauled 
down? ” 


2o8 the vanished MESSENGER 

Mr. Fentolin pointed out of the window. Gerald 
followed his finger. Three men were at work upon 
the towering spars. 

“ You see,” Mr. Fentolin continued tolerantly, 
“ that I am keeping my word to Lieutenant Godfrey. 
You are suffering from a little too much imagina- 
tion, I am afraid. It is really quite a good fault. 
By-the-by, how do you get on with our friend Mr. 
Hamel.? ” 

“ Very well,” the boy replied. ‘‘ I haven’t seen 
much of him.” 

“ He and Esther are together a great deal, eh.? ” 
Mr. Fentolin asked quickly. 

“ They seem to be quite friendly.” 

“ It isn’t Mr. Hamel, by any chance, who has been 
putting these ideas into your head.? ” 

“No one has been putting any ideas into my head,” 
Gerald answered hotly. “ It’s simply what I’ve seen 
and overheard. It’s simply what I feel around, the 
whole atmosphere of the place, the whole atmosphere 
you seem to create around you with these brutes 
Sarson and Meekins ; and those white-faced, smooth- 
tongued Marconi men of yours, who can’t talk de- 
cent English ; and the post-office man, who can’t look 
you in the face ; and Miss Price, who looks as though 
she were one of the creatures, too, of your torture 
chamber. That’s all.” 

Mr. Fentolin waited until he had finished. Then 
he waved him away. 

“ Go and take a long walk, Gerald,” he advised. 
“ Fresh air is what you need, fresh air and a little 
vigorous exercise. Run along now and send Miss 
Price to me.” 


THE VANISHED MESSENGER 209 

Gerald overtook Hamel upon the stairs. 

‘‘ By this time,” the latter remarked, “ I suppose 
that our friend Mr. Dunster is upon the sea.” 

Gerald nodded silently. They passed along the 
corridor. The door of the room which Mr. Dun- 
ster had occupied was ajar. , As though by common 
consent, they both stopped and looked in. The 
windows were all wide open, the bed freshly made. 
The nurse was busy collecting some medicine bottles 
and fragments of lint. She looked at them in sur- 
prise. 

“ Mr. Dunster has left, sir,” she told them. 

“We saw him go,” Gerald replied. 

“Rather a quick recovery, wasn’t it, nurse.'*” 
Hamel asked. 

“ It wasn’t a recovery at all, sir,” the woman de- 
clared sharply. “ He’d no right to have been taken 
away. It’s my opinion Doctor Sarson ought to be 
ashamed of himself to have permitted it.” 

“ They couldn’t exactly make a prison of the 
place, could they.? ” Hamel pointed out. “ The man, 
after all, was only a guest.” 

“ That’s as it may be, sir,” the nurse replied. 
“ All the same, those that won’t obey their doctors 
aren’t fit to be allowed about alone. That’s the way 
I look at it.” 

Mrs. Fentolin was passing along the corridor as 
they issued from the room. She started a little as 
she saw them. 

“What have you two been doing in there?” she 
asked quickly. 

“ We were just passing,” Hamel explained. 
“ We stopped for a moment to speak to the nurse.” 


210 THE VANISHED MESSENGER 

‘‘ Mr. Dunster has gone,” she said. “ You saw 
him go, Gerald. You saw him, too, didn’t you, Mr. 
Hamel.? ” 

‘‘ I certainly did,” Hamel admitted. 

Mrs. Fentolin pointed to the great north window 
near which they were standing, through which the 
clear sunlight streamed a little pitilessly upon her 
worn face and mass of dyed hair. 

“ You ought neither of you to be indoors for a 
minute on a morning like this,” she declared. “ Es- 
ther is waiting for you in the car, I think, Mr. 
Hamel.” 

Gerald passed on up the stairs to his room, but 
Hamel lingered. A curious impulse of pity towards 
his hostess stirred him. The morning sunlight 
seemed to have suddenly revealed the tragedy of 
her life. She stood there, a tired, worn woman, with 
the burden heavy upon her shoulders. 

“ Why not come out with Miss Fentolin and me ? ” 
he suggested. “We could lunch at the Golf Club, 
out on the balcony. I wish you would. Can’t you 
manage it.? ” 

She shook her head. 

“ Thank you very much,” she said. “ Mr. Fen- 
tolin does not like to be left.” 

Something in the finality of her words seemed to 
him curiously eloquent of her state of mind. She 
did not move on. She seemed, indeed, to have the 
air of one anxious to say more. In that ruthless 
light, the advantages of her elegant clothes and 
graceful carriage were suddenly stripped away from 
her. She was the abject wreck of a beautiful woman, 
wizened, prematurely aged. Nothing remained but 


THE VANISHED MESSENGER 211 


the eyes, which seemed somehow to have their mes- 
sage for him. 

“ Mr. Fentolin is a little peculiar, you know,” she 
went on, her voice shaking slightly with the effort 
she was making to keep it low. “ He allows Esther 
so little liberty, she sees so few young people of her 
own age. I do not know why he allows you to be 
with her so much. Be careful, Mr. Hamel.” 

Her voice seemed suddenly to vibrate with a curious 
note of suppressed fear. Almost as she finished her 
speech, she passed on. Her little gesture bade him 
remain silent. As she went up the stairs, she be- 
gan to hum scraps of a little French air. 


CHAPTER XXIII 


Hamel sliced his ball at the ninth, and after wait- 
ing for a few minutes patiently, Esther came to help 
him look for it. He was standing down on the sands, 
a little apart from the two caddies who were beat- 
ing out various tufts of Ipng grass. 

“ Where did it go ? ” she asked. 

“ I have no idea,” he admitted. 

“ Why don’t you help look for it.? ” 

“ Searching for balls,” he insisted, “ is a caddy’s 
occupation. Both the caddies are now busy. Let 
us sit down here. These sand hummocks are de- 
lightful. It is perfectly sheltered, and the sun is 
in our faces. Golf is an overrated pastime. Let us 
sit and watch that little streak of blue find its way 
up between the white posts.” 

She hesitated for a moment. 

“ We shall lose our place.” 

“ There is no one behind.” 

She sank on to the httle knoll of sand to which 
he had pointed, with a resigned sigh. 

“ You really are a queer person,” she declared. 
“ You have been playing golf this morning as though 
your very life depended upon it. You have scarcely 
missed a shot or spoken a word. And now, all of 
a sudden, you want to sit on a sand hummock and 
watch the tide.” 


1 



“ The subject of my thoughts is my excuse. I have been 
thinking of you.” Page 213 



THE VANISHED MESSENGER 213 

“ I have been silent,” he told her, “ because I have 
been thinking.” 

“ That may be truthful,” she remarked, “ but you 
wouldn’t call it polite, would you.? ” 

“ The subject of my thoughts is my excuse. I 
have been thinking of you.” 

For a single moment her eyes seemed to have 
caught something of that sympathetic light with 
which he was regarding her. Then she looked away. 

“ Was it my mashie shots you were worrying 
about ? ” she asked. 

“ It was not,” he replied simply. “ It was you — 
you yourself.” 

She laughed, not altogether naturally. 

“ How flattering ! ” she murmured. “ By-the-by, 
you are rather a downright person, aren’t you, Mr. 
Hamel.? ” 

“ So much so,” he admitted, “ that I am going to 
tell you one or two things now. I am going to be 
very frank indeed.” 

She sat suddenly quite still. Her face was turned 
from him, but for the first time since he had known 
her there was a slight undertone of colour in her 
cheeks. 

“ A week ago,” he said, ‘‘ I hadn’t the faintest 
idea of coming into Norfolk. I knew about this 
little shanty of my father’s, but I had forgotten all 
about it. I came as the result of a conversation I 
had with a friend who is in the Foreign Office.” 

She looked at him with startled eyes. 

‘‘ What do you mean.? ” she asked quickly. “ You 
are Mr. Hamel, aren’t you? ” 

“ Certainly,” he replied. “ Not only am I Richard 


214 THE VANISHED MESSENGER 

Hamel, mining engineer, but I really have all that 
reading to do I have spoken about, and I really was 
looking for a quiet spot to do it in. It is true that 
I had this part of the world in my mind, but I do not 
think that I should ever have really decided to come 
here if it had not been for my friend in London. 
He was very interested indeed directly I mentioned 
St. David’s Tower. Would you like to know what 
he told me.? ” 

‘‘Yes! Go on, please.” 

“ He told me a little of the history of your uncle, 
Mr. Fentolin, and what he did not tell me at the 
time, he has since supplemented. I suppose,” he 
added, hesitatingly, “ that you yourself — ” 

“ Please go on. Please speak as though I knew 
nothing.” 

“ Well, then,” Hamel continued, “ he told me that 
your uncle was at one time in the Foreign Office 
himself. He seemed to have a most brilliant career 
before him when suddenly there was a terrible scan- 
dal. A political secret — I don’t know what it was 
— had leaked out. There were rumours that it had 
been acquired for a large sum of money by a foreign 
Power. Mr. Fentolin retired to Norfolk, pending 
an investigation. It was just as that time that he 
met with his terrible accident, and the matter was 
dropped.” 

“ Go on, please,” she murmured. 

“ My friend went on to say that during the last 
few years Mr. Fentolin has once again become an 
object of some suspicion to the head of our Secret 
Service Department. For a long time they have 
known that he was employing agents abroad, and 


THE VANISHED MESSENGER 215 

that he was showing the liveliest interest in under- 
ground politics. They believed that it was a mere 
hobby, born of his useless condition, a taste min- 
istered to, without doubt, by the occupation of his 
earlier life. Once or twice lately they have had 
reason to change their minds. You know, I dare 
say, in what a terribly disturbed state European 
affairs are just now. Well, my friend had an idea 
that Mr. Fentolin was showing an extraordinary 
amount of interest in a certain conference which we 
understand is to take place at The Hague. He 
begged me to come down, and to watch your uncle 
while I was down here, and report to him anything 
that seemed to me noteworthy. Since then I have 
had a message from him concerning the American 
whom you entertained — Mr. John P. Dunster. It 
appears that he was the bearer of very important 
dispatches for the Continent.” 

“ But he has gone,” she said quickly. Nothing 
happened to him, after all. He went away without 
a word of complaint. We all saw him.” 

“ That is quite true,” Hamel admitted. “ Mr. 
Dunster has certainly gone. It is rather a coin- 
cidence, however, that he should have taken his de- 
parture just as the enquiries concerning his where- 
abouts had reached such a stage that it had become 
quite impossible to keep him concealed any longer.” 

She turned a little in her place and looked at 
him steadfastly. 

“ Mr. Hamel,” she said, ‘‘ tell me — what of your 
mission.? You have had an opportunity of studying 
my uncle. You have even lived under his roof. 
Tell me what you think.” 


2i6 the vanished MESSENGER 

His face was troubled. 

‘‘ Miss Fentolin,” he said, “ I will tell you frankly 
that up to now I have not succeeded in solving the 
problem of your uncle’s character. To me per- 
sonally he has been most courteous. He lives ap- 
parently a studious and an unselfish life. I have 
heard him even spoken of as a philanthropist. And 
yet you three — you, your mother, and your brother, 
who are nearest to him, who live in his house and 
under his protection, have the air of passing your 
days in mortal fear of him.” 

“ Mr. Hamel,” she exclaimed nervously, “ you 
don’t believe that ! He is always very kind.” 

“ Apparently,” Hamel observed drily. “ And yet 
you must remember that you, too, are afraid of him. 
I need not remind you of our conversations, but 
there the truth is. You praise his virtues and his 
charities, you pity him, and yet you go about with 
a load of fear, and — forgive me — of secret terror 
in your heart, you and Gerald, too. As for your 
mother — ” 

“ Don’t ! ” she interrupted suddenly, “ Why do 
you bring me here to talk like this.? You cannot 
alter things. Nothing can be altered.” 

“ Can’t it ! ” he rephed. “ Well, I will tell you the 
real reason of my having brought you here and of 
my having made this confession. I brought you here 
because I could not bear to go on living, if not under 
your roof, at any rate in the neighbourhood, without 
telling you the truth. Now you know it. I am here 
to watch Mr. Fentolin. I am going on watching 
him. You can put him on his guard, if you like; I 
shan’t complain. Or you can — ” 


THE VANISHED MESSENGER 217 

He paused so long that she looked at him. He 
moved a little closer to her, his fingers suddenly 
gripped her hand. 

“ Or you can marry me and come away from it 
all,” he concluded quietly. “ Forgive me, please — 
I mean it.” 

For a moment the startled light in her eyes was 
followed by a delicious softness. Her lips were 
parted, she leaned a little towards him. Then sud- 
denly she seemed to remember. She rose with swift 
alertness to her feet. 

‘‘ I think,” she said, “ that we had better play 
golf.” 

“ But I have asked you to marry me,” he pro- 
tested, as he scrambled up. 

“ Your caddy has found your ball a long time 
ago,” she pointed out, walking swiftly on ahead. 

He played his shot and caught her up. 

“Miss Fentolin — Esther,” he pleaded eagerly, 
“ do you think that I am not in earnest? Because 
I am. I mean it. Even if I have only known you 
for a few days, it has been enough. I think that I 
knew it was coming from the moment that you 
stepped into my railway carriage.” 

“ You knew that what was coming? ” she asked, 
raising her eyes suddenly. 

“ That I should care for you.” 

“ It’s the first time you’ve told me so,” she re- 
minded him, with a queer little smile. “ Oh, for- 
give me, please ! I didn’t mean to say that. I don’t 
want to have you tell me so. It’s all too ridiculous 
and impossible.” 

“Is it? And why?” 


2i8 the vanished MESSENGER 

“ I have only known you for three days.” 

“ We can make up for that.” 

“ But I don’t — care about you. I have never 
thought of any one in that way. It is absurd,” she 
went on. 

“ You’ll have to, sometime or other,” he declared. 

“ I’ll take you travelling with me, show you the world, 
new worlds, unnamed rivers, untrodden mountains. 
Or do you want to go and see where the little brown 
people live among the mimosa and the cherry blos- 
soms? I’ll take you so far away that this place and 
this life will seem like a dream.” 

Her breath caught a little. 

“ Don’t, please,” she begged. “ You know very 
well — or rather you don’t know, perhaps, but I 
must tell you — that I couldn’t. I am here, tied and 
bound, and I can’t escape.” 

‘‘ Ah ! dear, don’t believe it,” he went on earnestly. 
“ There isn’t any bond so strong that I won’t break 
it for you, no knot I won’t untie, if you give me the 
right.” 

They were climbing slowly on to the tee. He 
stepped forward and pulled her up. Her hand was 
cold. Her eyes were raised to his, very softly yet 
almost pleadingly. 

“ Please don’t say anything more,” she begged. 
“ I can’t — quite bear it just now. You know, you 
must remember — there is my mother. Do you think 
that I could leave her to struggle alone? ” 

His caddy, who had teed the ball, and who had re- 
garded the proceedings with a moderately tolerant 
air, felt called upon at last to interfere. 

“ We’d best get on,” he remarked, pointing to two 


THE VANISHED MESSENGER 219 

figures in the distance, ‘‘ or they’ll say we’ve cut 
in.” 

Hamel smote his ball far and true. On a more 
moderate scale she followed his example. They de- 
scended the steps together. 

“ Love-making isn’t going to spoil our golf,” he 
whispered, smiling, as he touched her fingers once 
more. 

She looked at him almost shyly. 

‘‘ Is this love-making.? ” she asked. 

They walked together from the eighteenth green 
towards the club-house. A curious silence seemed 
suddenly to have enveloped them. Hamel was con- 
scious of a strange exhilaration, a queer upheaval 
of ideas, an excitement which nothing in his previous 
life had yet been able to yield him. The wonder of 
it amazed him, kept him silent. It was not until 
they reached the steps, indeed, that he spoke. 

“ On our way home — ” he began. 

She seemed suddenly to have stiffened. He looked 
at her, surprised. She was standing quite still, her 
hand gripping the post, her eyes fixed upon the wait- 
ing motor-car. The delicate softness had gone from 
her face. Once more that look of partly veiled suf- 
fering was there, suffering mingled with fear. 

‘‘ Look ! ” she whispered, under her breath. 

Look ! It is Mr. Fentolin ! He has come for us 
himself; he is there in the car.” 

Mr. Fentolin, a strange little figure lying back 
among the cushions of the great Daimler, raised his 
hat and waved it to them. 

Come along, children,” he cried. “ You see, I 
am here to fetch you myself. The sunshine has 


320 THE VANISHED MESSENGER 


tempted me. What a heavenly morning ! Come 
and sit by my side, Esther, and fight your battle all 
over again. That is one of the joys of golf, isn’t 
it ? ” he asked, turning to Hamel. “ You need not 
be afraid of boring me. To-day is one of my bright 
days. I suppose that it is the sunshine and the warm 
wind. On the way here we passed some fields. I 
could swear that I smelt violets. Where are you go- 
ing, Esther? ” 

“ To take my clubs to my locker and pay my 
caddy,” she replied. 

“ Mr. Hamel will do that for you,” Mr. Fentolin 
declared. ‘‘ Come and take your seat by my side, 
and let us wait for him. I am tired of being alone.” 

She gave up her clubs reluctantly. All the life 
seemed to have gone from her face. 

“ Why didn’t mother come with you ? ” she asked 
simply. 

“ To tell you the truth, dear Esther,” he an- 
swered, when I started, I had a fancy to be alone. 
I think — in fact I am sure — that your mother 
wanted to come. The sunshine, too, was tempting 
her. Perhaps it was selfish of me not to bring her, 
but then, there is a great deal to be forgiven me, 
isn’t there, Esther? ” 

“ A great deal,” she echoed, looking steadily ahead 
of her. 

“ I came,” he went on, “ because it occurred to me 
that, after all, I had my duties as your guardian, 
dear Esther. I am not sure that we can permit 
flirtations, you know. Let me see, how old are 
you ? ” 

“ Twenty-one,” she replied. 


THE VANISHED MESSENGER 221 


“ In a magazine I was reading the other day,” he 
continued, “ I was interested to observe that the 
modern idea as regards marriage is a changed one. 
A woman, they say, should not marry until she 
is twenty-seven or twenty-eight — a very excellent 
idea. I think we agree, do we not, on that, Esther ? ” 

“ I don’t know,” she replied. “ I have never 
thought about the matter.” 

“ Then,” he went on, “ we will make up our minds 
to agree. Twenty-seven or twenty-eight, let us say. 
A very excellent age! A girl should know her own 
mind by then. And meanwhile, dear Esther, would it 
be wise, I wonder, to see a little less of our friend 
Mr. Hamel.? He leaves us to-day, I think. He is 
very obstinate about that. If he were staying still 
in the house, well, it might be different. But if he 
persists in leaving us, you will not forget, dear, 
that association with a guest is one thing; associa- 
tion with a young man living out of the house is an- 
other. A great deal less of Mr. Hamel I think that 
we must see.” 

She made no reply whatever. Hamel was coming 
now towards them. 

“ Really a very personable young man,” Mr. Fen- 
tolin remarked, studying him through his eyeglass. 
“ Is it my fancy, I wonder, as an observant person, 
or is he just a little — just a little taken with you, 
Esther.? A pity if it is so — a great pity.” 

She said nothing, but her hand which rested upon 
the rug was trembling a little. 

“ If you have an opportunity,” Mr. Fentolin sug- 
gested, dropping his voice, “ you might very del- 
icately, you know — girls are so clever at that sort 


222 THE VANISHED MESSENGER 

of thing — convey my views to Mr. Hamel as re- 
gards his leaving us and its effect upon your com- 
panionship. You understand me, I am sure? ” 

For the first time she turned her head towards 
him. 

“ I understand,” she said, “ that you have some 
particular reason for not wishing Mr. Hamel to leave 
St. David’s HaU.” 

He smiled benignly. 

‘‘ You do my hospitable impulses full justice, dear 
Esther,” he declared. “ Sometimes I think that you 
understand me almost as well as your dear mother. 
If, by any chance, Mr. Hamel should change his 
mind as to taking up his residence at the Tower, I 
think you would not find me in any sense of the word 
an obdurate or exacting guardian. Come along, 
Mr. Hamel. That seat opposite to us is quite com- 
fortable. You see, I resign myself to the inevitable. 
I have come to fetch golfers home to luncheon, and 
I compose myself to listen. Which of you will be- 
gin the epic of missed putts and brassey shots which 
failed by a foot to carry? ” 


CHAPTER XXIV 


Hamel sat alone upon the terrace, his afternoon 
coffee on a small table in front of him. His eyes 
were fixed upon a black speck at the end of the 
level roadway which led to the Tower. Only a few 
minutes before, Mr. Fentolin, in his little carriage, 
had shot out from the passage beneath the terrace, 
on his way to the Tower. Behind him came Meekins, 
bending over his bicycle. Hamel watched them both 
with thoughtful eyes. There were several little in- 
cidents in connection with their expedition which he 
scarcely understood. 

Then there came at last the sound for which he had 
been listening, the rustle of a skirt along the ter- 
raced way. ^ Hamel turned quickly around, half 
rising to his feet, and concealing his disappointment 
with difficulty. It was Mrs. Seymour Fentolin who 
stood there, a little dog under each arm; a large 
hat, gay with flowers, upon her head. She wore 
patent shoes with high heels, and white silk stock- 
ings. She had, indeed, the air of being dressed 
for luncheon at a fashionable restaurant. As she 
stooped to set the dogs down, a strong waft of per- 
fume was shaken from her clothes. 

“Are you entirely deserted, Mr. Hamel ” she 
asked. 

“ I am,” he replied. “ Miss Esther went, I think, 
to look for you. My host,” he added, pointing to 


224 THE VANISHED MESSENGER 

the black speck in the distance, “ begged me to defer 
my occupation of the Tower for an hour or so, 
and has gone down there to collect some of his 
trifles.” 

Her eyes followed his outstretched hand. She 
seemed to him to shiver for a moment. 

“ You really mean, then, that you are going to 
leave us.?” she asked, accepting the chair which he 
had drawn up close to his. 

He smiled. 

“ Well, I scarcely came on a visit to St. David’s 
Hall, did I.?” he reminded her. “It has been de- 
lightfully hospitable of Mr. Fentolin to have in- 
sisted upon my staying on here for these few days, 
but I could not possibly inflict myself upon you all 
for an unlimited period.” 

Mrs. Fentolin sat quite still for a time. In ab- 
solute repose, if one could forget her mass of un- 
naturally golden hair, the forced and constant smile, 
the too liberal use of rouge and powder, the nervous 
motions of her head, it was easily to be realised that 
there were still neglected attractions about her face 
and figure. Only, in these moments of repose, an 
intense and ageing weariness seemed to have crept 
into her eyes and face. It was as though sKe had 
dropped the mask of incessant gaiety and permitted 
a glimpse of her real self to steal to the surface. 

“ Mr. Hamel,” she said quietly, “ I dare say that 
even during these few days you have realised that Mr. 
Fentolin is a very peculiar man.” 

“ I have certainly observed — eccentricities,” 
Hamel assented. 

“ My life, and the lives of my two children,” she 


THE VANISHED MESSENGER 225 

went on, “ is devoted to the task of ministering to 
his happiness.” 

“Isn’t that rather a heavy sacrifice?” he asked. 

Mrs. Seymour Fentolin looked down the long, nar- 
row way along which Mr. Fentolin had passed. He 
was out of sight now, inside the Tower. Somehow 
or other, the thought seemed to give her courage and 
dignity. She spoke differently, without nervousness 
or hurry. 

“ To you, Mr. Hamel,” she said, “ it may seem so. 
We who make it know of its necessity.” 

He bowed his head. It was not a subject for him 
to discuss with her. 

“ Mr. Fentolin has whims,” she went on, “ violent 
whims. We all try to humour him. He has his own 
ideas about Gerald’s bringing up. I do not agree 
with them, but we submit. Esther, too, suffers, per- 
haps to a less extent. As for me,” — her voice 
broke a little — “ Mr. Fentolin likes people around 
him who are always cheerful. He prefers even a 
certain style — of dress. I, too, have to do my little 
share.” 

Hamel’s face grew darker. 

“ Has it ever occurred to you,” he demanded, 
“ that Mr. Fentolin is a tyrant ? ” 

She closed her eyes for a moment. 

“ There are reasons,” she declared, “ why I can- 
not discuss that with you. He has these strong 
fancies, and it is our task in life to humour them. 
Pie has one now with regard to the Tower, with re- 
gard to you. You are, of course, your own master. 
You can do as you choose, and you will do as you 
choose. Neither I nor my children have any claim 


226 THE VANISHED MESSENGER 

upon your consideration. But, Mr. Hamel, you 
have been so kind that I feel moved to tell you this. 
It would make it very much easier for all of us if 
you would give up this scheme of yours, if you would 
stay on here instead of going to reside at the Tower.” 

Hamel threw away his cigarette. He was deeply 
interested. 

“ Mrs. Fentolin,” he said, ‘‘ I am glad to have 
you speak so plainly. Let me answer you in the 
same spirit. I am leaving this house mainly because 
I have conceived certain suspicions with regard to 
Mr. Fentolin. I do not like him, I do not trust him, 
I do not believe in him. Therefore, I mean to re- 
move myself from the burden of his hospitality. 
There are reasons,” he went on, ‘‘ why I do not wish 
to leave the neighbourhood altogether. There are 
certain investigations which I wish to make. That 
is why I have decided to go to the Tower.” 

“ Miles was right, then ! ” she cried suddenly. 
“ You are here to spy upon him! ” 

He turned towards her swiftly. 

“To spy upon him, Mrs. Fentolin? For what 
reason? Why? Is he a criminal, then? ” 

She opened her lips and closed them again. There 
was a slight frown upon her forehead. It was ob- 
vious that the word had unintentionally escaped her. 

“ I only know what it is that he called you, what 
he suspects you of being,” she explained. “ Mr. 
Fentolin is very clever, and he is generally at work 
upon something. We do not enquire into the pur- 
pose of his labours. The only thing I know is that 
he suspects you of wanting to steal one of his se- 
crets.” 


THE VANISHED MESSENGER 227 

“ Secrets? But what secrets has he? ” Hamel de- 
manded. “ Is he an inventor? ” 

“ You ask me idle questions,” she sighed. “We 
have gone, perhaps, a little further than I intended. 
I came to plead with you for all our sakes, if I 
could, to make things more comfortable by remain- 
ing here instead of insisting upon your claim to 
the Tower.” 

“ Mrs. Fentolin,” Hamel said firmly. “ I like to 
do what I can to please and benefit my friends, es- 
pecially those who have been kind to me. I will be 
quite frank with you. There is nothing you could 
ask me which I would not do for your daughter’s sake 
— if I were convinced that it was for her good.” 

Mrs. Seymour Fentolin seemed to be trembling 
a little. Her hands were crossed upon her bosom. 

“ You have known her for so short a time,” she 
murmured. 

Hamel smiled confidently. 

“ I will not weary you,” he said, “ with the usual 
trite remarks. I will simply tell you that the time 
has been long enough. I love your daughter.” 

Mrs. Fentolin sat quite still. Only in her eyes, 
fixed steadily seawards, there was the light of some- 
thing new, as though some new thought was stirring 
in her brain. Her lips moved, although the sound 
which came was almost inaudible. 

“ Why not ? ” she murmured, as though arguing 
with some unseen critic of her thoughts. “ Why 
not? ” 

“ I am not a rich man,” Hamel went on, “ but I 
am fairly well off. I could afford to be married at 
once, and I should like — ” 


228 THE VANISHED MESSENGER 

She turned suddenly upon him and gripped his 
wrist. 

“ Listen,” she interrupted, “ you are a traveller, 
are you not.'^ You have been to distant countries, 
where white people go seldom ; inaccessible countries, 
where even the arm of the law seldom reaches. 
Couldn’t you take her away there, take her right 
away, travel so fast that nothing could catch you,^ 
and hide — hide for a little time? ” 

Hamel stared at his companion, for a moment, 
blankly. Her attitude was so unexpected, her ques- 
tioning so fierce. 

“ My dear Mrs. Fentolin,” he began — 

She suddenly relaxed her grip of his arm. Some- 
thing of the old hopelessness was settling down upon 
her face. Her hands fell into her lap. 

“ No,” she interrupted, “ I forgot ! I mustn’t 
talk like that. She, too, is part of the sacrifice.” 

“ Part of the sacrifice,” Hamel repeated, frown- 
ing. “ Is she, indeed ! I don’t know what sacrifice 
you mean, but Esther is the girl whom sooner or 
later, somehow or other, I am going to make my 
wife, and when she is my wife, I shall see to it that 
she isn’t afraid of Miles Fentolin or of any other man 
breathing.” 

A gleam of hopefulness shone through the stony 
misery of the woman’s face. 

“ Does Esther care? ” she asked softly. 

“ How can I tell? I can only hope so. If she 
doesn’t yet, she shall some day. I suppose,” he 
added, with a sigh, “ it is rather too soon yet to 
expect that she should. If it is necessary, I can 
wait.” 


THE VANISHED MESSENGER 229 

Mrs. Fentolin’s eyes were once more fixed upon 
the Tower. The sun had caught the top of the tele- 
phone wire and played around it till it seemed like 
a long, thin shaft of silver. 

‘‘ If you go down there,” she said, “ Esther will 
not be allowed to see you at all. Mr. Fentolin has 
decided to take it as a personal affront. You will 
be ostracised from here.” 

“ Shall ” he answered. “Well, it won’t be for 
long, at any rate. And as to not seeing Esther, you 
must remember that I come from outside this little 
domain, and I see nothing more in Mr. Fentolin than 
a bad-tempered, mischievous, tyrannical old invalid, 
who is fortunately prevented by his infirmities from 
doing as much mischief as he might. I am not afraid 
of your brother-in-law, or of the bully he takes about 
with him, and I am going to see your daughter some- 
how or other, and I am going to marry her before 
very long.” 

She thrust out her hand suddenly and grasped his. 
The fingers were very thin, almost bony, and covered 
with rings. Their grip was feverish and he felt them 
tremble. 

“ You are a brave man, Mr. Hamel,” she declared, 
speaking in a low, quick undertone. “ Perhaps you 
are right. The shadow isn’t over your head. You 
haven’t lived in the terror of it. You may find a 
way. God grant it ! ” 

She wrung his fingers and rose to her feet. Her 
voice suddenly changed into another key. Hamel 
knew instinctively that she wished him to understand 
that their conversation was over. 

“ Chow-Chow,” she cried, “ come along, dear, we 


/ 


230 THE VANISHED MESSENGER 

must have our walk. Come along, Koto ; come along, 
little dogs.” 

Hamel strolled down the terrace steps and wan- 
dered for a time in the gardens behind the house. 
Here, in the shelter of the great building, he found 
himself suddenly in an atmosphere of springtime. 
There were beds of crocuses and hyacinths, fragrant 
clumps of violets, borders of snowdrops, masses of 
primroses and early anemones. He slowly climbed 
one or two steep paths until he reached a sort of 
plateau, level with the top of the house. The flowers 
here grew more sparsely, the track of the salt wind 
lay like a withering hand across the flower-beds. 
The garden below was like a little oasis of colour and 
perfume. Arrived at the bordering red brick wall, 
he turned around and looked along the narrow road 
which led to the sea. There was no sign of Mr. Fen- 
tolin’s return. Then to his left he saw a gate open 
and heard the clamour of dogs. Esther appeared, 
walking swiftly towards the little stretch of road 
which led to the village. He hurried after her. 

“ Unsociable person ! ” he exclaimed, as he caught 
her up. “ Didn’t you know that I was longing for 
a walk ? ” 

‘‘ How should I read your thoughts ? ” she an- 
swered. “ Besides, a few minutes ago I saw you 
on the terrace, talking to mother. I am only going 
as far as the village.” 

“May I come?” he asked. “I have business 
there myself.” 

She laughed. 

“ There are nine cottages, three farmhouses, and a 
general shop in St. David’s,” she remarked. “ Also 


THE VANISHED MESSENGER 231 

about fifteen fishermen’s cottages dotted about the 
marsh. Your business, I presume, is with the gen- 
eral shop.? ” 

He shook his head, falling into step with her. 

“ What I want,” he explained, “ is to find a woman 
to come in and look after me at the Tower. Your 
servant who valets me has given me two names.” 

Something of the lightness faded from her face. 

“ So you have quite made up your mind to leave 
us ? ” she asked slowly. Mother wasn’t able to 
persuade you to stay.? ” 

He shook his head. 

“ She was very kind,” he said, “ but there are 
really grave reasons why I feel that I must not ac- 
cept Mr. Fentolin’s hospitality any longer. I had,” 
he went on, “ a very interesting talk with your 
mother.” 

She turned quickly towards him. The slightest 
possible tinge of additional colour was in her cheeks. 
She was walking on the top of a green bank, with 
the wind blowing her skirts around her. The turn 
of her head was a little diffident, almost shy. Her 
eyes were asking him questions. At that moment 
she seemed to him, with her slim body, her gently 
parted lips and soft, tremulous eyes, almost like a 
child. He drew a little nearer to her. 

“ I told your mother,” he continued, ‘‘ all that I 
have told you, and more. I told her, dear, that I 
cared for you, that I wanted you to be my wife.” 

She was caught in a little gust of wind. Both her 
hands went up to her hat; her face was hidden. 
She stepped down from the bank. 

“ You shouldn’t have done that,” she said quietly. 


232 THE VANISHED MESSENGER 

“ Why not? ” he demanded. ‘‘ It was the truth.” 

He stooped forward, intent upon looking into her 
face. The mystic softness was still in her eyes, but 
her general expression was inscrutable. It seemed 
to him that there was fear there. 

“ What did mother say ? ” she whispered. 

“ Nothing discouraging,” he replied. “ I don’t 
think she minded at all. I have decided, if you give 
me permission, to go and talk to Mr. Fentolin this 
evening.” 

She shook her head very emphatically. 

“ Don’t ! ” she implored. “ Don’t ! Don’t give 
him another whip to lash us with. Keep silent. 
Let me just have the memory for a few days all to 
myself.” 

Her words came to him like numb things. There 
was little expression in them, and yet he felt that 
somehow they meant so much. 

“ Esther dear,” he said, “ I shall do just as you 
ask me. At the same time, please listen. I think 
that you are all absurdly frightened of Mr. Fen- 
tolin. Living here alone with him, you have all 
grown under his dominance to an unreasonable ex- 
tent. Because of his horrible infirmity, you have 
let yourselves become his slaves. There are limits 
to this sort of thing, Esther. I come here as a 
stranger, and I see nothing more in Mr. Fentolin 
than a very selfish, irritable, domineering, and ca- 
pricious old man. Humour him, by all means. I am 
willing to do the same myself. But when it comes 
to the great things in life, neither he nor any living 
person is going to keep from me the woman I love.” 

She walked by his side in silence. Her breath was 


THE VANISHED MESSENGER 233 

coming a little quicker, her fingers lay passive in his. 
Then for a moment he felt the grip of them almost 
burn into his flesh. Still she said nothing. 

‘‘ I want your permission, dear,” he went on, “ to 
go to him. I suppose he calls himself your guardian. 
If he says no, you are of age. I just want you to 
believe that I am strong enough to put my arms 
around you and to carry you away to my own world 
and keep you there, although an army of Mr. Fen- 
tolin’s creatures followed us.” 

She turned, and he saw the great transformation. 
Her face was brilliant, her eyes shone with wonder- 
ful things. 

“ Please,” she begged, “ will you say or do nothing 
at all for a little time, until I tell you when.?^ I 
want just a few days’ peace. You have said such 
beautiful things to me that I want them to lie there 
in my thoughts, in my heart, undisturbed, for just a 
little time. You see, we are at the village now. I 
am going to call at this third cottage. While I am 
inside, you can go and make what enquiries you like. 
Come and knock at the door for me when you are 
ready.” 

“ And we will walk back together? ” 

“ We will walk back together,” she promised him. 
‘‘ I will take you home another way. I will take 
you over what they call the Common, and come down 
behind the Hall into the gardens.” 

She dismissed him with a little smile. He strolled 
along the village street and plunged into the mys- 
terious recesses of the one tiny shop. 


CHAPTER XXV 


Hamel met Kinsley shortly before one o’clock the 
following afternoon, in the lounge of the Royal Ho- 
tel at Norwich. 

“You got my wire, then? ” the latter asked, as he 
held out his hand. “ I had it sent by special mes- 
senger from Wells.” 

“ It arrived directly after breakfast,” Hamel re- 
plied. “ It wasn’t the easiest matter to get here, 
even then, for there are only about two trains a 
day, and I didn’t want to borrow a car from Mr. 
Fentohn.” 

“ Quite right,” Kinsley agreed. “ I wanted you 
to come absolutely on your own. Let’s get into the 
coffee-room and have some lunch now. I want to 
catch the afternoon train back to town.” 

“ Do you mean to saj that you’ve come all the 
way down here to talk to me for half an hour or so? ” 
Hamel demanded, as they took their places at a 
table. 

“ All the way from town,” Kinsley assented, “ and 
up to the eyes in work we are, too. Dick, what do 
you think of Miles Fentolin? ” 

“ Hanged if I know ! ” Hamel answered, with a 
sigh. 

“ Nothing definite to tell us, then? ” 

“ Nothing! ” 

“What about Mr. John P. Dunster?” 


THE VANISHED MESSENGER 235 

He left yesterday morning,” Hamel said. “ I 
saw him go. He looked very shaky. I understood 
that Mr. Fentolin sent him to Yarmouth.” 

“ Did Mr. Fentolin know that there was an en- 
quiry on foot about this man’s disappearance.^ ” 
Kinsley asked. 

“ Certainly. I heard Lord Saxthorpe tell him 
that the police had received orders to scour the 
country for him, and that they were coming to St. 
David’s Hall.” 

Kinsley, for a moment, was singularly and elo- 
quently profane. 

“ That’s why Mr. Fentolin let him go, then. If 
Saxthorpe had only held his tongue, or if those in- 
fernal police hadn’t got chattering with the magis- 
trates, we might have made a coup. As it is, the 
game’s up. Mr. Dunster left for Yarmouth, you 
say, yesterday morning ” 

“ I saw him go myself. He looked very shaky 
and ill, but he was able to smoke a big cigar and 
walk down-stairs leaning on the doctor’s arm.” 

“ I don’t doubt,” Kinsley remarked, ‘‘ but that 
you saw what you say you saw. At the same time, 
you may be surprised to hear that Mr. Dunster has 
disappeared again.” 

“ Disappeared again ” Hamel muttered. 

“ It looks very much,” Kinsley continued, “ as 
though your friend Miles Fentolin has been playing 
with him like a cat with a mouse. He has been 
obliged to turn him out of one hiding-place, and he 
has simply transferred him to another.” 

Hamel looked doubtful. 

“ Mr. Dunster left quite alone in th^ car,” he 


236 THE VANISHED MESSENGER 

said. “ He was on his guard, too, for Mr. Fen- 
tolin and he had had words. I really can’t see how 
it was possible for him to have got into any more 
trouble.” 

“Where is he, then?” Kinsley demanded. 
“ Come, I will let you a little further into our confi- 
dence. We have reason to believe that he carries 
with him a written message which is practically the 
only chance we have of avoiding disaster during the 
next few days. That written message is addressed 
to the delegates at The Hague, who are now sitting. 
Nothing had been heard of Dunster or the document 
he carries. No word has come from him of any 
sort since he left St. David’s Hall.” 

“Have you tried to trace him from there?” 
Hamel asked. 

“ Trace him ? ” Kinsley repeated. “ By heavens, 
you don’t seem to understand, Dick, the immense, 
the extraordinary importance of this man to us 1 
The cleverest detective in England spent yesterday 
under your nose at St. David’s Hall. There are a 
dozen others working upon the job as hard as they 
can. All the reports confirm what you say — that 
Dunster left St. David’s Hall at half-past nine yes- 
terday morning, and he certainly arrived in Yar- 
mouth at a little before twelve. From there he seems, 
however, to have completely disappeared. The car 
went back to St. David’s Hall empty; the man only 
stayed long enough in Yarmouth, in fact, to have 
his dinner. We cannot find a single smack owner 
who was approached in any way for the hire of a 
boat. Yarmouth has been ransacked in vain. He 
certainly has not arrived at The Hague or we should 


THE VANISHED MESSENGER 237 

have heard news at once. As a last resource, I ran 
down here to see you on the chance of your having 
picked up any information.” 

Hamel shook his head. 

You seem to know a good deal more than I do, 
already,” he said. 

“ What do you think of Mr. Fentolin? You have 
stayed in his house. You have had an opportunity 
of studying him.” 

So far as my impressions go,” Hamel replied, 
‘‘ everything which you have suggested might very 
well be true. I think that either out of sheer love 
of mischief, or from some subtler motive, he is 
capable of anything. Every one in the place, except 
one poor woman, seems to look upon him as a sort 
of supernatural being. He gives money away to 
worthless people with both hands. Yet I share your 
opinion of him. I believe that he is a creature with- 
out conscience or morals. I have sat at his table 
and shivered when he has smiled.” 

“ Are you staying at St. David’s Hall now ? ” 

‘‘ I left yesterday.” 

“ Where are you now, then ? ” 

“ I am at St. David’s Tower — the little place I 
told you of that belonged to my father — but I don’t 
know whether I shall be able to stop there. Mr. 
Fentolin, for some reason or other, very much re- 
sented my leaving the Hall and was very annoyed 
at my insisting upon claiming the Tower. When 
I went down to the village to get some one to come 
up and look after me, there wasn’t a woman there 
who would coine. It didn’t matter what I offered, 
they were all the same. They all muttered some 


238 THE VANISHED MESSENGER 

excuse or other, and seemed only anxious to show 
me out. At the village shop they seemed to hate 
to serve me with anything. It was all I could do 
to get a packet of tobacco yesterday afternoon. 
You would really think that I was the most unpop- 
ular person who ever lived, and it can only be be- 
cause of Mr. Fentolin’s influence.” 

“ Mr. Fentolin evidently doesn’t like to have you 
in the locality,” Kinsley remarked thoughtfully. 

“ He was all right so long as I was at St. David’s 
Hall,” Hamel observed. 

“ What’s this little place like — St. David’s 
Tower, you call it ? ” Kinsley asked. 

“ Just a little stone building actually on the 
beach,” Hamel explained. “ There is a large shed 
which Mr. Fentolin keeps locked up, and the hab- 
itable portion consists just of a bedroom and sitting- 
room. From what I can see, Mr. Fentolin has been 
making a sort of hobby of the place. There is 
telephonic communication with the house, and he 
seems to have used the sitting-room as a sort of 
studio. He paints sea pictures and really paints 
them very well.” 

A man came into the coffee-room, made some en- 
quiry of the waiter and went out again. Hamel 
stared at him in a puzzled manner. For the mo- 
ment he could only remember that the face was fa- 
miliar. Then he suddenly gave vent to a little ex- 
clamation. 

“ Any one would think that I had been followed,” 
he remarked. “ The man who has just looked into 
the room is one of Mr. Fentolin’s parasites or body- 
guards, or whatever you call them.” 


THE VANISHED MESSENGER 239 

“ You probably have,” Kinsley agreed. “ What 
post does he hold in the household ? ” 

“ I have no idea,” Hamel replied. ‘‘ I saw him 
the first day I arrived and not since. Sort of sec- 
retary, I should think.” 

“ He is a queer-looking fellow, anyway,” Kinsley 
muttered. “ Look out, Dick. Here he comes back 
again.” 

Mr. Ryan approached the table a little diffi- 
dently. 

“ I hope you will forgive the liberty, sir,” he said 
to Hamel. “ You remember me, I trust — Mr. 
Ryan. I am the librarian at St. David’s Hall.” 

Hamel nodded. 

“ I thought I’d seen you there.” 

“ I was wondering,” the man continued, ‘‘ whether 
you had a car of Mr. Fentolin’s in Norwich to-day, 
and if so, whether I might beg a seat back in case 
you were returning before the five o’clock train.? 
I came in early this morning to go through some 
manuscripts at a second-hand bookseller’s here, and 
I have unfortunately missed the train back.” 

Hamel shook his head. 

‘‘ I came in by train myself, or I would have given 
you a lift back, with pleasure,” he said. 

Mr. Ryan expressed his thanks briefly and left the 
room. Kinsley watched him from over the top of a 
newspaper. 

“ So that is one of Mr. Fentolin’s creatures, too,” 
he remarked. “ Keeping his eye on you in Norwich, 
eh.? Tell me, Dick, by-the-by, how do you get on 
with the rest of Mr. Fentolin’s household, and ex- 
actly of whom does it consist? ” 


240 THE VANISHED MESSENGER 

“ There is his sister-in-law,” Hamel replied, “ Mrs. 
Seymour Fentolin. She is a strange, tired-looking 
woman who seems to stand in mortal fear of Mr. 
Fentolin. She is always overdressed and never nat- 
ural, but it seems to me that nearly everything she 
does is done to suit his whims, or at his instiga- 
tion.” 

Kinsley nodded thoughtfully. 

“ I remember Seymour Fentolin,” he said ; “ a 
really fine fellow he was. Well, who else? ” 

“ Just the nephew and niece. The boy is half 
sullen, half discontented, yet he, too, seems to obey 
his uncle blindly. The three of them seem to be 
his slaves. It’s a thing you can’t live in the house 
without noticing.” 

“ It seems to be a cheerful sort of household,” 
Kinsley observed. ‘‘ You read the papers, I sup- 
pose, Dick? ” he asked, after a moment’s pause. 

“ On and off, the last few days. I seem to have 
been busy doing all sorts of things.” 

“ Well, I’ll tell you something,” Kinsley continued. 
“ The whole of our available fleet is engaged in 
carrying out what they call a demonstration in the 
North Sea. They have patrol boats out in every 
direction, and only the short distance wireless sig- 
nals are being used. Everything, of course, is in 
code, yet we know this for a fact: a good deal of 
private information passing between the Admiral 
and his commanders was known in Germany three 
hours after the signals themselves had been given. 
It is suspected — more than suspected, in fact — 
that these messages were picked up by Mr, Fen- 
tolin’s wireless installation,” 


THE VANISHED MESSENGER 241 

“ I don’t suppose he could help receiving them,” 
Hamel remarked. 

“ He could help decoding them and sending them 
through to Germany, though,” Kinsley retorted 
grimly. “ The worst of it is, he has a private tele- 
phone wire in his house to London. If he isn’t up 
to mischief, what does he need all these things for — 
private telegraph line, private telephone, private 
wireless We have given the postmaster a hint to 
have the telegraph office moved down into the vil- 
lage, but I don’t know that that will help us much.” 

“ So far as regards the wireless,” Hamel said, “ I 
rather believe that it is temporarily dismantled. We 
had a sailor-man over, the morning before yesterday, 
to complain of his messages having been picked up. 
Mr. Fentolin promised at once to put his installa- 
tion out of work for a time.” 

He has done plenty of mischief with it already,” 
Kinsley groaned. ‘‘ However, it was Dunster I came 
down to make enquiries about. I couldn’t help hop- 
ing that you might have been able to put us on the 
right track.” 

Hamel sighed. 

I know nothing beyond what I have told you.” 
How did he look when he went away.? ” 

Very ill indeed,” Hamel declared. ‘‘ I after- 
wards saw the nurse who had been attending him, 
and she admitted that he was not fit to travel. I 
should say the probabilities are that he is laid up 
again somewhere.” 

“ Did you actually speak to him.? ” 

Just a word or two.” 

And you saw him go off in the car? ” 


242 THE VANISHED MESSENGER 

“ Gerald Fentolin and I both saw him and wished 
him good-by.” 

Kinsley glanced at the clock and rose to his feet. 

“ Walk down to the station with me,” he sug- 
gested. “ I needn’t tell you, I am sure,” he went 
on, as they left the hotel a few minutes later, ‘‘ that 
if anything does turn up, or if you get the glim- 
mering of an idea, you’ll let me know.^ We’ve a small 
army looking for the fellow, but it does seem as 
though he had disappeared off the face of the earth. 
If he doesn’t turn up before the end of the Conference, 
we are done.” 

“ Tell me,” Hamel asked, after they had walked 
for some distance in silence, “ exactly why is our 
fleet demonstrating to such an extent ? ” 

“ That Conference I have spoken of,” Kinsley re- 
plied, “ which is being held at The Hague, is being 
held, we know, purposely to discuss certain matters 
in which we are interested. It is meeting for their 
discussion without any invitation having been sent 
to this country. There is only one reply possible 
to such a course. It is there in the North Sea. 
But unfortunately — ” 

Kinsley paused. His tone and his expression had 
alike become gloomier, 

“ Go on,” Hamel begged. 

‘‘ Our reply, after all, is a miserable affair,” 
Kinsley concluded. “ You remember the outcry 
over the withdrawal of our Mediterranean Fleet? 
Now you see its sequel. We haven’t a ship worth a 
snap of the fingers from Gibraltar to Suez. If 
France deserts us, it’s good-by to Malta, good-by to 
Egypt, good-by to India. It’s the disruption of the 


THE VANISHED MESSENGER 243 

British Empire. And all this,” he wound up, as he 
paused before taking his seat in the railway carriage, 
“ all this might even now be avoided if only we could 
lay our hands upon the message which that man Dun- 
ster was bringing from New York! ” 


CHAPTER XXVI 


Once more Hamel descended from the little train, 
and, turning away from St. David’s Hall, made his 
way across the marshes, seawards. The sunshine 
of the last few days had departed. The twilight 
was made gloomy by a floating veil of white mist, 
which hung about in wet patches. Hamel turned 
up his coat collar as he walked and shivered a little. 
The thought of his solitary night and uncomfortable 
surroundings, after all the luxury of St. David’s 
Hall, was scarcely inspiring. Yet, on the whole, he 
was splendidly cheerful. The glamour of a host of 
new sensations was upon him. There was a new love 
of living in his heart. He forgot the cold east wind 
which blew in his face, bringing with it little puffs 
of damp grey mist. He forgot the cheerlessness 
which he was about to face, the lonely night before 
him. For the first time in his life a woman reigned 
in his thoughts. 

It was not until he actually reached the very side 
of the Tower that he came back to earth. As he 
opened the door, he found a surprise in store for him. 
A fire was burning in the sitting-room, smoke was as- 
cending from the kitchen chimney. The little round 
table was laid with a white cloth. There was a faint 
odour of cooking from the back premises. His lamp 
was lit, there were logs hissing and crackling upon 
the fire. As he stood there looking wonderingly 


THE VANISHED MESSENGER 245 

about him, the door from the back was opened. 
Hannah Cox came quietly into the room. 

“ What time would you like your dinner, sir ? ” 
she enquired. 

Hamel stared at her. 

“ Why, are you going to keep house for me, Mrs. 
Cox ? ” he asked. 

“ If you please, sir. I heard that you had been 
in the village, looking for some one. I am sorry 
that I was away. There is no one else who would 
come to you.” 

So I discovered,” he remarked, a little grimly. 

‘‘No one else,” she went on, “ would come to you 
because of Mr. Fentolin. He does not wish to have 
you here. They love him so much in the village that 
he had only to breathe the word. It was enough.” 

“ Yet you are here,” he reminded her. 

“ I do not count,” she answered. “ I am outside 
all these things.” 

Hamel gave a little sigh of satisfaction. 

“ Well, I am glad you could come, anyhow. If 
you have something for dinner, I should like it in 
about half an hour.” 

He climbed the narrow stairs which led to his 
bedroom. To his surprise, there were many things 
there for his comfort which he had forgotten to 
order — clean bed-linen, towels, even a curtain upon 
the window. 

“ Where did you get all the linen up-stairs from, 
Mrs. Cox.? ” he asked her, when he descended. “ The 
room was almost empty yesterday, and I forgot 
nearly all the things I meant to bring home from 
Norwich.” 


246 THE VANISHED MESSENGER 

‘‘ Mrs. Seymour Fentolin sent down a hamper for 
you,” the woman replied, “ with a message from Mr. 
Fentolin. He said that nothing among the odd- 
ments left by your father had been preserved, but 
that you were welcome to anything you desired, if 
you would let them know at the Hall.” 

“ It is very kind of both of them,” Hamel said 
thoughtfully. 

The woman stood still for a moment, looking at 
him. Then she drew a step nearer. 

“ Has Mr. Fentolin given you the key of the 
shed.? ” she asked, very quietly. 

Hamel shook his head. 

‘‘ We don’t need the place, do we.? ” 

“He did not give you the key.?” she persisted. 

“ Mr. Fentolin said that he had some things in 
there which he wished to keep locked up,” he ex- 
plained. 

She remained thoughtful for several moments. 
Then she turned away. 

“No,” she said, “it was not likely — he would 
not give you that key ! ” 

Hamel dined simply but comfortably. Mrs. Cox 
cleared away the things, brought him his coffee, 
and appeared a few minutes later, her shawl wrapped 
around her, ready for departure. 

“ I shall be here at seven o’clock in the morning, 
sir,” she announced. 

Hamel was a little startled. He withdrew the pipe 
from his mouth and looked at her. 

“ Why, of course,” he remarked. “ I’d forgot- 
ten. There is no place for you to stay here.” 

“ I shall go back to my brother’s,” she said. 


THE VANISHED MESSENGER 247 

Hamel put some money upon the table. 

“ Please get anything that is necessary,” he di- 
rected. “ I shall leave you to do the housekeeping 
for a few days.” 

“ Shall you be staying here long, sir.? ” she asked. 

‘‘ I am not sure,” he replied. 

“ I do not suppose,” she said, “ that you will stay 
for very long. I shall get only the things that you 
require from day to day. Good night, sir.” 

She left the room. Hamel looked after her for 
a moment with a frown. In some indescribable way, 
the woman half impressed, half irritated him. She 
had always the air of keeping something in the back- 
ground. He followed her out on to the little ridge 
of beach, a few minutes after she had left. The mist 
was still drifting about. Only a few yards away the 
sea rolled in, filling the air with dull thunder. The 
marshland was half obscured. St. David’s Hall was 
invisible, but like strangely-hung lanterns in an empty 
space he saw the line of lights from the great house 
gleam through the obscurity. There was no sound 
save the sound of the sea. He shivered slightly. It 
was like an empty land, this. 

Then, moved by some instinct of curiosity, he made 
his way round to the closed door of the boat-house, 
only to find it, as he had expected, locked. He shook 
it slightly, without result. Then he strolled round 
to the back, entered his own little abode by the 
kitchen, and tried the other door which led into the 
boat-house. It was not only locked, but a staple 
had been put in, and it was fastened with a padlock 
of curious design which he did not remember to have 
seen there before. Again, half unconsciously, he 


248 THE VANISHED MESSENGER 

listened, and again he found the silence oppressive. 
He went back to his room, brought out some of the 
books which it had been his intention to study, and 
sat and read over the fire. 

At ten o’clock he went to bed. As he threw open 
his window before undressing, it seemed to him that 
he could catch the sound of voices from the sea. 
He listened intently. A grey pall hung everywhere. 
To the left, with strange indistinctness, almost like 
something human struggling to assert itself, came 
the fitful flash from the light at the entrance to the 
tidal way. Once more he strained his ears. This 
time there was no doubt about it. He heard the 
sound of fishermen’s voices. He heard one of them 
say distinctly: 

“ Hard aport, Dave lad ! That’s Fentolin’s light. 
Keep her out a bit. Steady, lad ! ” 

Through a rift in the mist, he caught a glimpse of 
the brown sail of a fishing-boat, dangerously near 
the land. He watched it alter its course slightly and 
pass on. Then again there was silence. He un- 
dressed slowly and went to bed. 

Later on he woke with a start and sat up in bed, 
listening intently, listening for he knew not what. 
Except for the backward scream of the pebbles, 
dragged down every few seconds by the receding 
waves, an unbroken silence seemed to prevail. He 
struck a match and looked at his watch. It was 
exactly three o’clock. He got out of bed. He was 
a man in perfect health, ignorant of the meaning of 
nerves, a man of proved courage. Yet he was con- 
scious that his pulses were beating with absurd ra- 
pidity. A new feeling seemed to possess him. He 


THE VANISHED MESSENGER 049 

could almost have declared that he was afraid. 
What sound had awakened him? He had no idea, 
yet he seemed to have a distinct and absolute con- 
viction that it had been a real sound and no dream. 
He drew aside the curtains and looked out of the 
window. The mist now seemed to have become al- 
most a fog, to have closed in upon sea and land. 
There was nothing whatever to be seen. As he stood 
there for a moment, listening, his face became moist 
with the drifting vapour. Suddenly upon the beach 
he saw what at first he imagined must be an optical il- 
lusion — a long shaft of light, invisible in itself except 
that it seemed to slightly change the density of the 
mist. He threw on an overcoat over his pyjamas, 
thrust on his slippers, and taking up his own electric 
torch, hastily descended the stairs. He opened the 
front door and stepped out on to the beach. He 
stood in the very place where the light had seemed to 
be, and looked inland. There was no sign of any hu- 
man person, not a sound except the falling of the 
sea upon the pebbly beach. He raised his voice 
and called out. Somehow or other, speech seemed 
to be a relief. 

« Hullo!” 

There was no response. He tried again. 

“ Is any one there ? ” 

Still no answer. He watched the veiled light from 
the harbour appear and disappear. It threw no 
shadow of illumination upon the spot to which he 
had gazed from his window. One window at St. 
David’s Hall was illuminated. The rest of the place 
was wrapped now in darkness. He walked up to the 
boat-house. The door was still locked. There was 


250 THE VANISHED MESSENGER 

no sign that any one had been there. Reluctantly 
at last he re-entered the Tower and made his way 
up-stairs. 

“ Confound that fellow Kinsley ! ” he muttered, as 
he threw off his overcoat. “ All his silly suggestions 
and melodramatic ideas have given me a fit of nerves. 
I am going to bed, and I am going to sleep. That 
couldn’t have been a light I saw at all. I couldn’t 
have heard anything. I am going to sleep.” 


CHAPTER XXVII 


Hamel awoke to find his room filled with sunshine 
and a soft wind blowing in through the open window. 
There was a pleasant odour of coffee floating up from 
the kitchen. He looked at his watch — it was 
past eight o’clock. The sea was glittering and be- 
spangled with sunlight. He found among his scanty 
belongings a bathing suit, and, wrapped in his over- 
coat, hurried down-stairs. 

Breakfast in half an hour, Mrs. Cox,” he called 

out. 

She stood at the door, watching him as he stepped 
across the pebbles and plunged in. For a few mo- 
ments he swam. Then he turned over on his back. 
The sunlight was gleaming from every window of St. 
David’s Hall. He even fancied that upon the ter- 
race he could see a white-clad figure looking towards 
him. He turned over and swam once more. From 
her place in the doorway Mrs. Cox called out to 
him. 

‘‘ Mind the Dagger Rocks, sir ! ” 

He waved his hand. The splendid exhilaration of 
the salt water seemed to give him unlimited courage. 
He dived, but the woman’s cry of fear soon recalled 
him. Presently he swam to shore and hurried up the 
beach. Mrs. Cox, with a sigh of relief, disappeared 
into the kitchen. 

“ Those rocks on your nerves again, Mrs. Cox.^ ” 


252 THE VANISHED MESSENGER 

he asked, good-humouredly, as he took his place at 
the breakfast table a quarter of an hour later. 

‘‘ It’s only us who live here, sir,” she answered, 
‘‘ who know how terrible they are. There’s one — 
it comes up like my hand — a long spike. A boat 
once struck upon that, and it’s as though it’d been 
sawn through the middle.” 

‘‘ I must have a look at them some day,” he de- 
clared. “ I am going to work this morning, Mrs. 
Cox. Lunch at one o’clock.” 

He took rugs and established himself with a pile 
of books at the back of a grassy knoll, sheltered from 
the wind, with the sea almost at his feet. He sharp- 
ened his pencil and numbered the page of his note- 
book. Then he looked up towards the Hall garden 
and found himself dreaming. The sunshine was de- 
licious, and a gentle optimism seemed to steal over 
him. 

“ I am a fool!” he murmured to himself. “ I am 
catching some part of these people’s folly. Mr. 
Fentolin is only an ordinary, crotchety invalid 
with queer tastes. On the big things he is prob- 
ably like other men. I shall go to him this morn- 
ing.” 

A sea-gull screamed over his head. Little, brown- 
sailed fishing-boats came gliding down the harbour 
way. A pleasant, sensuous joyfulness seemed part of 
the spirit of the day. Hamel stretched himself out 
upon the dry sand. 

“ Work be hanged I ” he exclaimed. 

A soft voice answered him almost in his ear, a 
voice which was becoming very familiar. 

“ A most admirable sentiment, my young friend, 


THE VANISHED MESSENGER 253 

which you seem to be doing your best to live up to. 
Not a line written, I see.” 

He sat up upon his rug. Mr. Fentolin, in his lit- 
tle carriage, was there by his side. Behind was the 
faithful Meekins, with an easel under his arm. 

‘‘ I trust that your first night in your new abode 
has been a pleasant one.?* ” Mr. Fentolin asked. 

“ I slept quite well, thanks,” Hamel replied. 
“ Glad to see you’re going to paint.” 

Mr. Fentolin shook his head gloomily. 

“ It is, alas ! ” he declared, “ one of my weaknesses. 
I can work only in solitude. I came down on the 
chance that the fine weather might have tempted you 
over to the Golf Club. As it is, I shall return.” 

‘‘ I am awfully sorry,” Hamel said. “ Can’t I go 
out of sight somewhere.? ” 

Mr. Fentolin sighed. 

“ I will not ask your pardon for my absurd hu- 
mours,” he continued, a little sadly. “ Their exist- 
ence, however, I cannot deny. I will wait.” 

“ It seems a pity for you to do that,” Hamel re- 
marked. “ You see, I might stay here for some 
time.” 

Mr. Fentolin’s face darkened. He looked at the 
young man with a sort of pensive wrath. 

“ If,” the latter went on, “ you say ‘ yes ’ to some- 
thing I am going to ask you, I might even stay — 
in the neighbourhood — for longer still.” 

Mr. Fentolin sat quite motionless in his chair; his 
eyes were fixed upon Hamel. 

“'What is it that you are going to ask me.?” he 
demanded. 

“ I want to marry your niece.” 


254 the vanished MESSENGER 

Mr. Fentolin looked at the young man in mild 
surprise. 

“A sudden decision on your part, Mr. Hamel?” 
he murmured. 

“ Not at all,” Hamel assured him. ‘‘ I have been 
ten years looking for her.” 

“And the young lady?” Mr. Fentolin enquired. 
“ What does she say? ” 

“ I believe, sir,” Hamel replied, “ that she would 
be willing.” 

Mr. Fentolin sighed. 

“ One is forced sometimes,” he remarked regret- 
fully, “ to realise the selfishness of our young peo- 
ple. For many years one devotes oneself to provid- 
ing them with all the comforts and luxuries of life. 
Then, in a single day, they turn around and give 
everything they have to give to a stranger. So you 
want to marry Esther? ” 

“ If you please.” 

“ She has a very moderate fortune.” 

“ She need have none at all,” Hamel replied ; “ I 
have enough.” 

Mr. Fentolin glanced towards the house. 

“ Then,” he said, “ I think you had better go 
and tell her so; in which case, I shall be able to 
paint.” 

“ I have your permission, then ? ” Hamel asked, 
rising to his feet eagerly. 

“ Negatively,” Mr. Fentolin agreed, “ you have. 
I cannot refuse. Esther is of age ; the thing is rea- 
sonable. I do not know whether she will be happy 
with you or not. A young man of your disposition 
who declines to study the whims of an unfortunate 


THE VANISHED MESSENGER 255 

creature like myself is scarcely likely to be possessed 
of much sensibility. However, perhaps your views 
as to a solitary residence here will change with your 
engagement to my niece.” 

Hamel did not reply for a moment. He was try- 
ing to ask himself why, even in the midst of this rush 
of anticipatory happiness, he should be conscious of 
a certain reluctance to leave the Tower — and Mr. 
Fentolin. He was looking longingly towards the 
Hall. Mr. Fentolin waved him away. 

“ Go and make love,” he ordered, “ and leave me 
alone. We are both in pursuit of beauty — only 
our methods differ.” 

Hamel hesitated no longer but walked up the nar- 
now path with swift, buoyant footsteps. Every- 
where he seemed to be surrounded by the glorious 
spring sunshine. It glittered in the little pools and 
creeks by his side. It drew a new colour from the 
dun-coloured marshes, the masses of emerald seaweed, 
the shimmering sands. It flashed in the long row of 
windows of the Hall. As he drew nearer, he could 
see the banks of yellow crocuses in the sloping gar- 
dens behind. There were odours of spring in the air. 
He ran lightly up the terrace steps. There was an 
easy-chair drawn into her favourite comer, and a 
book upon the table, but no sign of Esther. He hesi- 
tated for a moment, and then, retracing his steps 
along the terrace, entered the house by the front 
door, which stood wide open. There was no one in 
the hall, scarcely a sound about the place. A great 
clock ticked solemnly from the foot of the stairs. 
There was not even a servant in sight. Hamel wan- 
dered around, at a loss what to do. He opened the 


256 THE VANISHED MESSENGER 

door of the drawing-room and looked in. It was 
empty. He turned away, meaning to ring a bell. 
On his way across the hall he paused. A curiously 
suggestive sound reached him faintly from the end 
of one of the passages. It was the click of a type- 
writer. 

Hamel stood for a moment perfectly still. He had 
hurried up to the Hall, filled with the one selfish joy 
common to all mankind. He had had no thought 
save the thought of seeing Esther. The click of that 
machine brought him back to the stern realities of 
life. He remembered his talk to Kinsley, his prom- 
ise. On the hall table he could see from where he was 
standing the great headlines which announced the na- 
tion’s anxiety. He was in the house of a suspected 
spy. The click of the typewriter was an accompani- 
ment to his thought. He looked around once more 
and listened. Then he made his way quietly across 
the hall and down the long passage, at the end of 
which the room which Mr. Fentolin called his work- 
room was situated. He turned the handle of the door 
and entered, closing it immediately behind him. The 
woman who was typing paused with her fingers upon 
the keys. Her eyes met his coldly, without curios- 
ity. She had paused in her work, but she took no 
other notice of his coming. 

“ Has Mr. Fentolin sent you here.? ” she asked at 
last. 

He came over to the typewriter. 

“Mr. Fentolin has not sent me,” he said slowly. 
“ I am here on my own account. I dare say you will 
think that I am a lunatic to come to you like this. 
Nevertheless, please listen to me,” 





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THE VANISHED MESSENGER 257 

Her fingers left the keys. She laid her hands upon 
the table in front of her. He drew a little nearer. 
She covered over the sheets of paper with which she 
was surrounded with a pad of blotting-paper. He 
pointed suddenly to them. 

‘‘ Why do you do that.? ” he demanded. “ What is 
there in your work that you are afraid I might see.? ” 

She answered him without hesitation. 

‘‘ These are private papers of Mr. Fentolin’s. 
No one has any business to see them. No one has 
any business to enter this room. Why are you 
here.? ” 

“ I came to the Hall to find Miss Fentolin,” he re- 
plied. “ I heard the click of your typewriter. I 
came to you, I suppose I should say, on impulse.” 

Her eyes rested upon his, filled with a cold and 
questioning light. 

“ There’s an impression up in London,” Hamel 
went on, ‘‘ that Mr. Fentolin has been interfering by 
means of his wireless in affairs which don’t concern 
him, and giving away valuable information. This 
man Dunster’s disappearance is as yet unexplained. 
I feel myself justified in making certain investiga- 
tions, and among the first of them I should like you to 
tell me exactly the nature of the work for which Mr. 
Fentolin finds a secretary necessary.? ” 

She glanced towards the bell. He moved to the 
edge of the table as though to intercept her. 

“ In any ordinary case,” he continued, “ I would 
not ask you to betray your employer’s confidence. 
As things are, I think I am justified. You are Eng- 
lish, are you not.? You realise, I suppose, that the 
country is on the brink of war.? ” 


258 THE VANISHED MESSENGER 

She looked at him from the depths of her still, lus- 
terless eyes. 

“ You must be a very foolish person,” she re- 
marked, “ if you expect to obtain information in this 
manner.” 

“ Perhaps I am,” he confessed, ‘‘ but my folly has 
brought me to you, and you can give me the informa- 
tion if you will.” 

“Where is Mr. Fentolin?” she asked. 

“ Down at the Tower,” he replied. “ I left him 
there. He sent me up to see Miss Fentolin. I was 
looking for her when the click of your typewriter re- 
minded me of other things.” 

She turned composedly back to her work. 

“ I think,” she said, “ that you had better go and 
find Miss Fentolin.” 

“ Don’t talk nonsense I You can’t think I have 
risked giving myself away to you for nothing? I 
mean to search this room, to read the papers which 
you are typing.” 

She glanced around her a little contemptuously. 

“ You are welcome,” she assured him. “ Pray 
proceed.” 

They exchanged the glances of duelists. Her 
plain black frock was buttoned up to her throat. 
Her colourless face seemed set in exact and expres- 
sionless lines. Her eyes were like windows of glass. 
He felt only their scrutiny; nothing of the reason 
for it, or of the thoughts which stirred behind in her 
brain. There was nothing about her attitude which 
seemed in any way threatening, yet he had the feel- 
ing that in this interview it was she who possessed 
the upper hand. 


THE VANISHED MESSENGER 259 

“ You are a foolish person,” she said calmly. 
“ You are so foolish that you are not, in all proba- 
bility, in the slightest degree dangerous. Believe 
me, ours is an unequal duel. There is a bell upon 
this table which has apparently escaped your no- 
tice. I sit with my finger upon the button — so. 
I have only to press it, and the servants will be here. 
I do not wish to press it. I do not desire that you 
should be, as you certainly would be, banished from 
this house.” 

He was immensely puzzled. She had not resented 
his strange intrusion. She had accepted it, indeed, 
with curious equanimity. Her forefinger lingered 
still over the little ivory knob of the bell attached 
to her desk. He shrugged his shoulders. 

“ You have the advantage of me,” he admitted, a 
little curtly. “ All the same, I think I could possess 
myself of those sheets of paper, you know, before the 
bell was answered.” 

“ Would it be wise, I wonder, then, to ensure their 
safety.? ” she asked coolly. 

Her finger pressed the bell. He took a quick step 
forward. She held out her hand. 

‘‘ Stop ! ” she ordered. “ These sheets will tell 
you nothing which you do not know already unless 
you are a fool. Never mind the bell. That is my 
affair. I am sending you away.” 

He leaned a little towards her. 

“ It wouldn’t be possible to bribe you, I sup- 
pose.? ” 

She shook her head. 

“ I wonder you haven’t tried that before. No, it 
would not — not with money, that is to say.” 


26 o the vanished MESSENGER 

‘‘You’ll tell Mr. Fentolin, I presume?” he asked 
quickly. 

“ I have nothing to tell him,” she replied. “ Noth- 
ing has happened. Richards,” she went on, as a 
servant entered the room, “ Mr. Hamel is looking for 
Miss Fentolin. Will you see if you can find her? ” 

The man’s expression was full of polite regret. 

“ Miss Fentolin went over to Legh Woods early 
this morning, sir,” he announced. “ She is staying 
to lunch with Lady Saxthorpe.” 

Hamel stood quite still for a moment. Then he 
turned to the window. In the far distance he could 
catch a glimpse of the Tower. Mr. Fentolin’s chair 
had disappeared from the walk. 

“ I am sorry,” he said. “ I must have made a mis- 
take. I will hurry back.” 

There were more questions which he was longing 
to ask, but the cold negativeness of her manner 
chilled him. She sat with her fingers poised over 
the keys, waiting for his departure. He turned and 
left the room. 


CHAPTER XXVIII 


Mr. Fentolin, his carriage drawn up close to the 
beach, was painting steadily when Hamel stood once 
more by his side. His eyes moved only from the 
sea to the canvas. He never turned his head. 

‘‘ So your wooing has not prospered, my young 
friend,” he remarked gently. “ I am sorry. Is 
there anything I can do ? ” 

“ Your niece has gone out to lunch,” Hamel re- 
plied shortly. 

Mr. Fentolin stopped painting. His face was full 
of concern as he looked up at Hamel. 

“ My dear sir,” he exclaimed, “ how can I apolo- 
gise! Of course she has gone out to lunch. She 
has gone out to Lady Saxthorpe’s. I remember the 
subject being discussed. I myself, in fact, was the 
instigator of her going. I owe you a thousand 
apologies, Mr. Hamel. Let me make what amends 
are possible for your useless journey. Dine with us 
to-night.” 

“ You are very kind.” 

“ A poor amends,” Mr. Fentolin continued. “ A 
morning like this was made for lovers. Sunshine and 
blue sky, a salt breeze flavoured just a little with that 
lavender, and a stroll through my spring gardens, 
where my hyacinths are like a field of purple and 
gold, a mantle of jewels upon the brown earth. Ah, 
well! One’s thoughts will wander to the be^^utiful 


262 THE VANISHED MESSENGER 

things of life. There were once women who loved 
me, Mr. Hamel.” 

Hamel looked doubtfully at the strange little fig- 
ure in the chair. Was this genuine, he wondered, a 
voluntary outburst, or was it some subtle attempt to 
incite sympathy.? Mr. Fentolin seemed almost to 
have read his thought. 

“ It is not for the sake of your pity that I say 
this,” he continued. “ Mine is only the passing 
across the line which age as well as infirmity makes 
inevitable. No one in the world who lives to grow 
old, and who has loved and felt the fire of it in his 
veins, can pass that line without sorrow, or look back 
without a pang. I am among a great army. Well, 
well, I shall paint no more to-day,” he concluded 
abruptly. 

“ Where is your servant.? ” Hamel asked. 

Mr. Fentolin glanced around him carelessly. 

“ He has wandered away out of sight. He knows 
well how necessary solitude is to me if once I take 
the brush between my fingers — solitude natural and 
entire, I mean. If any one is within a dozen yards 
of me I know it, even though I cannot see them. 
Meekins is wandering somewhere the other side of 
the Tower.” 

“ ShaU I call him? ” 

“ On no account,” Mr. Fentolin begged. “ Pres- 
ently he will appear, in plenty of time. There is the 
morning to be passed — barely eleven o’clock, I 
think, now. I shall sit in my chair, and sink a little 
down, and dream of these beautiful lights, these roll- 
ing, foam-flecked waves, these patches of blue and 
shifting green, I can form them in my brain. I 


THE VANISHED MESSENGER 263 

can make a picture there, even though my fingers re- 
fuse to move. You are not an aesthete, I think, Mr. 
Hamel? The study of beauty does not mean to you 
what it did to your father, and my father, and, in 
a smaller way to me.” 

“ Perhaps not,” Hamel confessed. “ I believe I 
feel these things somewhere, because they bring a 
queer sense of content with them. I am afraid, 
though, that my artistic perceptions are not so keen 
as some men’s.” 

Mr. Fentolin looked at him thoughtfully. 

“ It is the physical life in your veins — too splen- 
did to permit you abstract pleasures. Compensa- 
tions again, you see — compensations. I wonder 
what the law is that governs these things. I have 
forgotten sometimes,” he went on, “ forgotten my 
own infirmities in the soft intoxication of a wonder- 
ful seascape. Only,” he went on, his face a little 
grey, “ it is the physical in life which triumphs. 
There are the hungry hours which nothing will sat- 
isfy.” 

His head sank, his chin rested upon his chest. He 
had all the appearance now of a man who talks in 
bitter earnest. Yet Hamel wondered. He looked 
towards the Tower; there was no sign of Meekins. 
The sea-gulls went screaming above their heads. Mr. 
Fentolin never moved. His eyes seemed half closed. 
It was only when Hamel rose to his feet that he 
looked swiftly up. 

“ Stay with me, I beg you, Mr. Hamel,” he said. 
‘‘ I am in one of the moods when solitude, even for a 
moment, is dangerous. Do you know what I have 
sometimes thought to myself ? ” 


264 the vanished MESSENGER 

He pointed to the planked way which led down the 
steep, pebbly beach to the sea. 

“ I have sometimes thought,” he went on, ‘‘ that 
it would be glorious to find a friend to stand by 
my side at the top of the planks, just there, when 
the tide was high, and to bid him loose my chair 
and to steer it myself, to steer it down the narrow 
path into the arms of the sea. The first touch of the 
salt waves, the last touch of life. Why not? One 
sleeps without fear.” 

He lifted his head suddenly. Meekins had ap- 
peared, coming round from the back of the Tower. 
Instantly Mr. Fentolin’s whole manner changed. 
He sat up in his chair. 

“ It is arranged, then,” he said. “ You dine with 
us to-night. For the other matters of which you 
have spoken, well, let them rest in the hands of the 
gods. You are not very kind to me. I am not sure 
whether you would make Esther a good husband. I 
am not sure, even, that I like you. You take no 
pains to make yourself agreeable. Considering that 
your father was an artist, you seem to me rather a 
dull and uninspired young man. But who can tell? 
There may be things stirring beneath that torpid 
brain of yours of which no other person knows save 
yourself.” 

The concentrated gaze of Mr. Fentolin’s keen eyes 
was hard to meet, but Hamel came out of the ordeal 
without flinching. 

“ At eight o’clock, Mr. Fentolin,” he answered. 
“ I can see that I must try to earn your better 
opinion.” 

Hamel read steadily for the remainder of the 


THE VANISHED MESSENGER 265 

morning. It was past one o’clock when he rose 
stiffly from his seat among the sand knolls and, 
strolling back to the Tower, opened the door and 
entered. The cloth was laid for luncheon in the 
little sitting-room, but there were no signs of Han- 
nah Cox. He passed on into the kitchen and came 
to a sudden standstill. Once more the memory of 
his own work passed away from him. Once more he 
was back again among that queer, clouded tangle 
of strange suspicions, of thrilling, half-formed fears, 
which had assailed him at times ever since his arrival 
at St. David’s. He stopped quite short. The words 
which rose to his lips died away. He felt the breath- 
less, compelling need for silence and grew tense in 
the effort to make no sound. 

Hannah Cox was kneeling on the stone floor. Her 
ear was close to the crack of the door which led into 
the boat-house. Her face, half turned from it, was 
set in a strange, concentrated passion of listening; 
her lips were parted, her eyes half closed. She took 
no more notice of Hamel or his arrival than if he 
had been some useless piece of furniture. Every 
faculty seemed to be absorbed in that one intense ef- 
fort of listening. There was no need of her out- 
stretched finger. Hamel fell in at once with a mood 
so mesmeric. He, too, listened. The small clock 
which she had brought with her from the village 
ticked away upon the mantelpiece. The full sea fell 
with placid softness upon the high beach outside. 
Some slight noise of cooking came from the stove. 
Save for these things there was silence. Yet, for a 
space of time which Hamel could never have meas- 
ured, they both listened. When at last the woman 


266 THE VANISHED MESSENGER 

rose to her feet, Hamel, finding words at last, was 
surprised to find that his throat was dry. 

“ What is it, Mrs. Cox? ” he asked. ‘‘ Why were 
you listening there? ” 

Her face was absolutely expressionless. She was 
busying herself now with a small saucepan, and her 
back was turned towards him. 

“ I spend my life, sir,” she said, ‘‘ listening and 
waiting. One never knows when the end may come.” 

“ But the boat-house,” Hamel objected. “ No 
one has been in there this morning, have they? ” 

“Who can tell?” she answered. “He could go 
anywhere when he chose, or how he chose — through 
the keyhole, if he wanted.” 

“ But why listen? ” Hamel persisted. “ There is 
nothing in there now but some odds and ends of ma- 
chinery.” 

She turned from the fire and looked at him for a 
moment. Her eyes were colourless, her tone unemo- 
tional. 

“ Maybe ! There’s no harm in listening.” 

“ Did you hear anything which made you want to 
listen? ” 

“ Who can tell ? ” she answered. A woman who 
lives well-nigh alone, as I live, in a quiet place, hears 
things so often that other folk never listen to. 
There’s always something in my ears, night or day. 
Sometimes I am not sure whether it’s in this world 
or the other. It was like that with me just then. 
It was for that reason I listened. Your luncheon’s 
ready, sir.” 

Hamel walked thoughtfully back into his sitting- 
room. He seated himself before a spotless cloth and 


THE VANISHED MESSENGER 267 

watched Hannah Cox spread out his well-cooked, 
cleanly-served meal. 

“ If there’s anything you want, sir,” she said, 
“ I shall hear you at a word. The kitchen door is 
open.” 

“ One moment, Mrs. Cox.” 

She lingered there patiently, with the tray in her 
hand. 

“ There was some sound,” Hamel continued, “ per- 
haps a real sound, perhaps a fancy, which made you 
go down on your knees in the kitchen. Tell me what 
it was.” 

“ The sound I always hear, sir,” she answered 
quietly. “ I hear it in the night, and I hear it when 
I stand by the sea and look out. I have heard it for 
so many years that who can tell whether it comes from 
this world or the other — the cry of men who die ! ” 

She passed out. Hamel looked after her, for a 
moment, like a man in a dream. In his fancy he 
could see her back again once more in the kitchen, 
kneeling on the stone floor, — listening ! 


CHAPTER XXIX 


A cold twilight had fallen upon the land when 
Hamel left the Tower that evening and walked briskly 
along the foot-way to the Hall. Little patches of 
mist hung over the creeks, the sky was almost frosty. 
The lights from St. David’s Hall shone like cheerful 
beacons before him. He hastened up the stone steps, 
crossed the terrace, and passed into the hall. A 
servant conducted him at once to the drawing-room. 
Mrs. Fentolin, in a pink evening dress, with a 
pink ornament in her hair, held out both her hands. 
In the background, Mr. Fentolin, in his queerly- 
cut evening clothes, sat with folded arms, lean- 
ing back in his carriage. He listened grimly to his 
sister-in-law as she stood with Hamel’s hands in 
hers. 

“ My dear Mr. Hamel ! ” she exclaimed. How 
perfectly charming of you to come up and relieve a 
little our sad loneliness! Delightful, I call it, of 
you. I was just saying so to Miles.” 

Hamel looked around the room. Already his heart 
was beginning to sink. 

‘‘ Miss Fentolin is well, I hope? ” he asked. 

Well, but a very naughty girl,” her mother de- 
clared. “ I let her go to Lady Saxthorpe’s to lunch, 
and now we have had simply the firmest letter from 
Lady Saxthorpe. They insist upon keeping Esther 
to dine and sleep. I have had to send her evening 


THE VANISHED MESSENGER 269 

clothes, but you can’t tell, Mr. Hamel, how I miss 
her.” 

Hamel’s disappointment was a little too obvious to 
pass unnoticed. There was a shade of annoyance, 
too, in his face. Mr. Fentolin smoothly intervened. 

“ Let us be quite candid with Mr. Hamel, dear 
Florence,” he begged. “ I have spoken to my sister- 
in-law and told her the substance of our conversation 
this morning,” he proceeded, wheeling his chair nearer 
to Hamel. “ She is thunderstruck. She wishes to 
reflect, to consider. Esther chanced to be away. 
We have encouraged her absence for a few more 
hours.” 

“ I hope, Mrs. Fentolin,” Hamel said simply, 
“ that you will give her to me. I am not a rich man, 
but I am fairly well off. I should be willing to live 
exactly where Esther wishes, and I would do my best 
to make her happy.” 

Mrs. Fentolin opened her lips once and closed 
them again. She laughed a little — a high-pitched, 
semi-hysterical laugh. The hand which gripped her 
fan was straining so that the blue veins stood out 
almost like whipcord. 

“ Esther is very young, Mr. Hamel. We must 
talk this over. You have known her for such a very 
short time.” 

A servant announced dinner, and Hamel offered his 
arm to his hostess. 

“ Is Gerald away, too ? ” he asked. 

We do indeed owe you our apologies,” Mr. Fen- 
tolin declared. Gerald is spending a couple of 
days at the Dormy House at Brancaster — a golf ar- 
rangement made some time back.” 


270 THE VANISHED MESSENGER 

“ He promised to play with me to-morrow,” Hamel 
remarked thoughtfully. “ He said nothing about go- 
ing away.” 

“ I fear that like most young men of his age he 
has little memory,” Mr. Fentolin sighed. “ How- 
ever, he will be back to-morrow or the next day. I 
owe you my apologies, Mr. Hamel, for our lack of 
young people. We must do our best to entertain our 
guest, Florence. You must be at your best, dear. 
You must tell him some of those capital stories of 
yours.” 

Mrs. Fentolin shivered for a moment. Hamel, as 
he handed her to her place, was struck by a strange 
look which she threw upon him, half furtive, full of 
pain. Her hand almost clung to his. She slipped a 
little, and he held her tightly. Then he was sud- 
denly conscious that something hard was being 
pressed into his palm. He drew his hand away at 
once. 

“ You seem a little unsteady this evening, my dear 
' Florence,” Mr. Fentolin remarked, peering across the 
round table. 

She eyed him nonchalantly enough. 

“ The floor is slippery,” she said. “ I was glad, 
for a moment, of Mr. Hamel’s strong hand. Where 
are those dear puppies? Chow-Chow,” she went on, 
“ come and sit by your mistress at once.” 

Hamel’s Angers inside his waistcoat pocket were 
smoothing out the crumpled piece of paper which 
she had passed to him. Soon he had it quite flat. 
Mrs. Fentolin, as though freed from some anxiety, 
chattered away gaily. 

“ I don’t know that I shall apologise to Mr. Hamel 


THE VANISHED MESSENGER 271 

at all for the young people being away,” she de- 
clared, “Just fancy what we have saved him from 
— a solitary meal served by Hannah Cox ! Do you 
know that they say she is half-witted, Mr. Hamel? ” 

“ So far, she has looked after me very well,” Hamel 
observed. 

“ Her intellect is defective,” Mr. Fentolin re- 
marked, “ on one point only. The good woman is 
obsessed by the idea that her husband and sons are 
still calling to her from the Dagger Rocks. It is al- 
most pitiful to meet her wandering about there on 
a stormy night. The seacoasts are full of these little 
village tragedies — real tragedies, too, however in- 
significant they may seem to us.” 

Mr. Fentolin’s tone was gently sympathetic. He 
changed the subject a moment or two later, how- 
ever. 

“ Nero fiddles to-night,” he said, “ while Rome 
bums. There are hundreds in our position, yet it 
certainly seems queer that we should be sitting here 
so quietly when the whole country is in such a state 
of excitement. I see the press this morning is preach- 
ing an immediate declaration of war.” 

“Against whom?” Mrs. Fentolin asked. 

Mr. Fentolin smiled. 

“ That does seem to be rather the trouble,” he ad- 
mitted. “ Russia, Austria, Germany, Italy, and 
France are all assisting at a Conference to which no 
English representative has been bidden. In a sense, 
of course, that is equivalent to an act of hostility 
from all these countries towards England. The 
question is whether we have or have not a secret 
understanding with France, and if so, how far she 


272 THE VANISHED MESSENGER 

will bd bound by it. There is a rumour that when 
Monsieur Deschelles was asked formally whom he rep- 
resented, that he replied — France and Great 
Britain.’ There may be something in it. It is hard 
to see how any English statesman could have left 
unguarded the Mediterranean, with all that it means, 
trusting simply to the faith of a country with whom 
we have no binding agreement. On the other hand, 
there is the mobilisation of the fleet. If France is 
really faithful, one wonders if there was need for such 
an extreme step.” 

“ I am out of touch with political affairs,” Hamel 
declared. “ I have been away from England for so 
long.” 

“ I, on the other hand,” Mr. Fentolin continued, his 
eyes glittering a little, “ have made the study of the 
political situation in Europe my hobby for years. I 
have sent to me the leading newspapers of Berlin, 
Rome, Paris, St. Petersburg, and Vienna. For two 
hours every day I read them, side by side. It is 
curious sometimes to note the common understanding 
which seems to exist between the Powers not bound 
by any formal alliance. For years war seemed a very 
unlikely thing, and now,” he added, leaning forward 
in his chair, “ I pronounce it almost a certainty.” 

Hamel looked at his host a little curiously. Mr. 
Fentolin’s gentleness of expression seemed to have de- 
parted. His face was hard, his eyes agleam. He 
had almost the look of a bird of prey. For some rea- 
son, the thought of war seemed to be a joy to him. 
Perhaps he read something of Hamel’s wonder in his 
expression, for with a shrug of the shoulders he dis- 
missed the subject. 


THE VANISHED MESSENGER 273 

“ Well,” he concluded, all these things lie on the 
knees of the gods. I dare say you wonder, Mr. Hamel, 
why a poor useless creature like myself should take the 
slightest interest in passing events.? It is just the fas- 
cination of the looker-on. I want your opinion about 
that champagne. Florence dear, you must join us. 
We will drink to Mr. Hamel’s health. We will per- 
haps couple that toast in our minds with the senti- 
ment which I am sure is not very far from your 
thoughts, Florence.” 

Hamel raised his glass and bowed to his host and 
hostess. He was not wholly at his ease. It seemed 
to him that he was being watched with a queer per- 
sistence by both of them. Mrs. Fentolin continued 
to talk and laugh with a gaiety which was too ob- 
viously forced. Mr. Fentolin posed for a while as 
the benevolent listener. He mildly applauded his 
sister-in-law’s stories, and encouraged Hamel in the 
recital of some of his reminiscences. Suddenly the 
door was opened. Miss Price appeared. She walked 
smoothly across the room and stood by Mr. Fen- 
tolin’s side. Stooping down, she whispered in his 
ear. He pushed his chair back a little from the 
table. His face was dark with anger. 

“ I said not before ten to-night,” he muttered. 

Again she spoke in his ear, so softly that the sound 
of her voice itself scarcely travelled even as far as 
where Hamel was sitting. Mr. Fentolin looked stead- 
fastly for a moment at his sister-in-law and from 
her to Hamel. Then he backed his chair away from 
the table. 

I shall have to ask to be excused for three min- 
utes,” he said. “ I must speak upon the telephone. 


274 the vanished MESSENGER 

It is a call from some one who declares that they 
have important news.” 

He turned the steering-wheel of his chair, and with 
Miss Price by his side passed across the dining-room, 
out of the oasis of rose-shaded lights into the shad- 
ows, and through the open door. From there he 
turned his head before he disappeared, as though to 
watch his guest. Mrs. Fentolin was busy fondling 
one of her dogs, which she had raised to her lap, and 
Hamel was watching her with a tolerant smile. 

“ Koto, you little idiot, why can’t you sit up like 
your sister? Was its tail in the way, then! Mr. 
Hamel,” she whispered under her breath, so softly 
that he barely caught the words, although he was 
only a few feet away, “ don’t look at me. I feel as 
though we were being watched all the time. You can 
destroy that piece of paper in your pocket. All that 
it says is : ‘ Leave here immediately after din- 

ner.’ ” 

Hamel sipped his wine in a nonchalant fashion. 
His fingers had strayed over the silky coat of the 
little dog, which she had held out as though for his 
inspection. 

‘‘ How can I ? ” he asked. ‘‘ What excuse can I 
make? ” 

“ Invent one,” she insisted swiftly. “ Leave here 
before ten o’clock. Don’t let anything keep you. 
And destroy that piece of paper in your pocket, if 
you can — now.” 

“ But, Mrs. Fentolin — ” he began. 

She caught up one of her absurd little pets and 
held it to her mouth. 

“ Meekins is in the doorway,” she whispered. 


THE VANISHED MESSENGER 275 

Don’t argue with me, please. You are in danger 
you know nothing about. Pass me the cigarettes.” 

She leaned back in her chair, smoking quickly. 
She held one of the dogs on her knee and talked rub- 
bish to it. Hamel watched her, leaning back in his 
carved oak chair, and he found it hard to keep the 
pity from his eyes. The woman was playing a part, 
playing it with desperate and pitiful earnestness, a 
part which seemed the more tragical because of the 
soft splendour of their surroundings. From the 
shadowy walls, huge, dimly-seen pictures hung about 
them, a strange and yet impressive background. 
Their small round dining-table, with its rare cut 
glass, its perfect appointments, its bowls of pink 
roses, was like a spot of wonderful colour in the great 
room. Two men servants stood at the sideboard a 
few yards away, a triumph of negativeness. The 
butler, who had been absent for a moment, stood now 
silently waiting behind his master’s place. Hamel 
was oppressed, during those few minutes of waiting, 
by a curious sense of unreality, as though he were 
taking part in some strange tableau. There was 
something unreal about his surroundings and his own 
presence there ; something unreal in the atmosphere, 
charged as it seemed to be with some omen of im- 
pending happenings ; something unreal in that whis- 
pered warning, those few hoarsely uttered words 
which had stolen to his hearing across the clusters 
of drooping roses; the absurd babble of the woman, 
who sat there with tragic things under the powder 
with which her face was daubed. 

“ Koto must learn to sit upon his tail — like that. 
No, not another grape till he sits up. There, then ! ” 


276 THE VANISHED MESSENGER 

She was leaning forward with a grape between 
her teeth, towards the tiny animal who was trying in 
vain to balance his absurdly shaped little body upon 
the tablecloth. Hamel, without looking around, knew 
quite well what was happening. Soon he heard the 
click of the chair. Mr. Fentolin was back in his 
place. His skin seemed paler and more parchment- 
like than ever. His eyes glittered. 

‘‘ It seems,” he announced quietly, as he raised his 
wine-glass to his lips with the air of one needing 
support, “ that we entertained an angel unawares 
here. This Mr. Dunster is lost for the second time. 
A very important personage he turns out to be.” 

“ You mean the American whom Gerald brought 
home after the accident.? ” Mrs. Fentolin asked care- 
lessly. 

“ Yes,” Mr. Fentolin replied. He insisted upon 
continuing his journey before he was strong enough. 
I warned him of what might happen. He has evi- 
dently been take ill somewhere. It seems that he was 
on his way to The Hague.” 

“Do you mean that he has disappeared altogether 
this time ? ” Hamel asked. 

Mr. Fentolin shook his head. 

“ No, he has found his way to The Hague safely 
enough. He is lying there at a hotel in the city, 
but he is unconscious. There is some talk about his 
having been robbed on the way. At any rate, they 
are tracing his movements backwards. We are to be 
honoured with a visit from one of Scotland Yard’s de- 
tectives, to reconstruct his journey from here. Our 
quiet little comer of the world is becoming quite 
notorious. Florence dear, you are tired. I can 


THE VANISHED MESSENGER 277 

see it in your eyes. Your headache continues, I am 
sure. We will not be selfish. Mr. Hamel and I are 
going to have a long evening in the library. Let 
me recommend a phenacetin and bed.” 

She rose at once to her feet, with a dog under 
either arm. 

“ ni take the phenacetin,” she promised, “ but I 
hate going to bed early. Shall I see you again, I 
wonder, Mr. Hamel? ” 

“ Not this evening, I fear,” he answered. “ I am 
going to ask Mr. Fentolin to excuse me early.” 

She passed out of the room. Hamel escorted her 
as far as the door and then returned. Mr. Fentolin 
was sitting quite still in his chair. His eyes were 
fixed upon the tablecloth. He looked up quickly as 
Hamel resumed his seat. 

“ You are not in earnest, I hope, Mr. Hamel,” he 
said, “when you tell me that you must leave early? 
I have been anticipating a long evening. My library 
is filled with books on South America which I want 
to discuss with you.” 

“ Another evening, if you don’t mind,” Hamel 
begged. “ To-night I must ask you to excuse my 
hurrying away.” 

Mr. Fentolin looked up from underneath his eye- 
lids. His glance was quick and penetrating. 

“ Why this haste ? ” 

Hamel shrugged his shoulders. 

“ To tell you the truth,” he admitted, “ I had an 
idea while I was reading an article on cantilever 
bridges this morning. I want to work it out.” 

Mr. Fentolin glanced behind him. The door of 
the dining-room was closed. The servants had dis- 


278 THE VANISHED MESSENGER 

appeared. Meekins alone, looking more like a prize- 
fighter than ever in his somber evening clothes, had 
taken the place of the butler behind his master’s 
chair. 

“We shall see,” Mr. Fentolin said quietly. 


CHAPTER XXX 


Mr. Fentolin pointed to the little pile of books 
upon the table, the deep easy-chair, the green-shaded 
lamps, the decanter of wine. He had insisted upon 
a visit, however brief, to the library. 

“ It is a student’s appeal which I make to you, 
Mr. Hamel,” he said, with a whimsical smile. “ Here 
we are in my study, with the door closed, secure 
against interruption, a bright fire in the grate, a 
howling and ever-increasing wind outside. Let us 
go together over the ground of your last wonderful 
expedition over the Andes. You will find that I am 
not altogether ignorant of your profession, or of 
those very interesting geological problems which you 
spoke of in connection with that marvellous railway 
scheme. We will discuss them side by side as sy- 
barites, hang ourselves around with cigarette smoke, 
drink wine, and presently coffee. It is necessary, is 
it not, for many reasons, that we become better ac- 
quainted? You realise that, I am sure, and you will 
not persist in returning to your selfish solitude.” 

Hamel’s eyes were fixed a little longingly upon 
some of the volumes with which the table was covered. 

“ You must not think me ungrateful or churlish, 
Mr. Fentolin,” he begged. “ I have a habit of keep- 
ing promises which I make to myself, and to-night I 
have made myself a promise that I will be back at 
the Tower by ten o’clock.” 


28 o the vanished MESSENGER 

“ You are obdurate? ” Mr. Fentolin asked softly. 

“ I am afraid I am.” 

Mr. Fentolin busied himself with the handle of his 
chair. 

“ Tell me,” he insisted, “ is there any other person 
save yourself to whom you have given this mysterious 
promise? ” 

“No one,” Hamel replied promptly. 

“ I am a person very sensitive to atmosphere,” 
Mr. Fentolin continued slowly. “ Since the un- 
fortunate visit of this man Dunster, I seem to have 
been conscious of a certain suspicion, a little cloud 
of suspicion under which I seem to live and move, 
even among the members of my own household. My 
sister-in-law is nervous and hysterical; Gerald has 
been sullen and disobedient ; Esther has avoided me. 
And now — well, I find even your attitude a little 
difficult to understand. What does it mean, Mr. 
Hamel? ” 

Hamel shook his head. 

“ I am not in the confidence of the different mem- 
bers of your family,” he answered. “ So far as I, 
personally, am concerned — ” 

“ It pleases me sometimes,” Mr. Fentolin inter- 
rupted, “ to interfere to some extent in the affairs 
of the outside world. If I do so, that is my busi- 
ness. I do it for my own amusement. It is at no 
time a serious position which I take up. Have I by 
any chance, Mr. Hamel, become an object of sus- 
picion to you ? ” 

“ There are matters in which you are concerned,” 
Hamel admitted, “ which I do not understand, but I 
see no purpose in discussing them.” 


THE VANISHED MESSENGER 281 

Mr. .Fentolin wheeled his chair round in a semi- 
circle. He was now between the door and Hamel. 

“ Weaker mortals than I, Mr. Hamel,” he said 
calmly, “ have wielded before now the powers of life 
and death. From my chair I can make the lightnings 
bite. Science has done away with the triumph of 
muscularity. Even as we are here together at this 
moment, Mr. Hamel, if we should disagree, it is I 
who am the preordained victor.” 

Hamel saw the glitter in his hand. This was an 
end, then, of all doubt! He remained silent. 

“ Suspicions which are, in a sense, absurd,” Mr. 
Fentolin continued, “ have grown until I find them 
obtrusive and obnoxious. What have I to do with 
Mr. John P. Dunster.^^ I sent him out from my 
house. If he is lost or ill, the affair is not mine. 
Yet one by one those around me are falling away. 
I told you an hour ago that Gerald was at Bran- 
caster. It is a lie. He has left this house, but no 
soul in it knows his destination.” 

Hamel started. 

‘‘ You mean that he has run away? ” 

Mr. Fentolin nodded. 

‘‘ AU that I can surmise is that he has followed 
Dunster,” he proceeded. ‘‘ He has an idea that in 
some way I robbed or injured the man. He has 
broken the bond of relationship between us. He has 
broken his solemn vow. He has run a grave and 
terrible risk.” 

“What of Miss Esther?” Hamel asked quickly. 

“ I have sent her away,” Mr. Fentolin replied, 
“ until we come to a clear understanding, you and I. 
You seem to be a harmless enough person, Mr. Hamel, 


282 THE VANISHED MESSENGER 

but appearances are sometimes deceptive. It has 
been suggested to me that you are a spy.” 

“ By whom.f* ” Hamel demanded. 

“ By those in whom I trust,” Mr. Fentolin told 
him sternly. “ You are a friend of Reginald Kins- 
ley. You met him in Norwich the other day — 
secretly. Kinsley’s chief is a member of the Govern- 
ment. He IS one of those who will find eternal oblo- 
quy if The Hague Conference comes to a success- 
ful termination. For some strange reason, I am 
supposed to have robbed or harmed the one man in 
the world whose message might bring to nought that 
Conference. Are you here to watch me, Mr. Hamel 
Are you one of those who believe that I am either 
in the pay of a foreign country, or that my harm- 
less efforts to interest myself in great things are 
efforts inimical to this country; that I am, in short, 
a traitor ? ” 

“ You must admit that many of your actions are 
incomprehensible,” Hamel replied slowly. “ There 
are things here which I do not understand — which 
certainly require explanation.” 

“ Still, why do you make them your business ” Mr. 
Fentolin persisted. “ If indeed the course which I 
steer is a harmless one,” he continued, with a strange 
new glitter in his eyes, “ then you are an impertinent 
stranger to whom my doors cannot any longer be 
open. If you have taken advantage of my hos- 
pitality to spy upon me and my actions, if indeed 
you have a mission here, then you can carry it with 
you down into hell ! ” 

“I understand that you are threatening me.?” 
Hamel murmured. 


THE VANISHED MESSENGER 283 

Mr. Fentolin smiled. 

“ Scarcely that, my young friend. I am not quite 
the obvious sort of villain who flourishes revolvers 
and lures his victims into secret chambers. These 
words to you are simply words of warning. I am not 
like other men, neither am I used to being crossed. 
When I am crossed, I am dangerous. Leave here, 
if you will, in safety, and mind your own affairs ; but 
if you show one particle of curiosity as to mine, if 
you interfere in matters which concern me and me 
only, remember that you are encircled by powers 
which are entirely ruthless, absolutely omnipotent. 
You can walk back to the Tower to-night and re- 
member that there isn’t a step you take which might 
not be your last if I willed it, and never a soul the 
wiser. There’s a very hungry little mother here who 
takes her victims and holds them tight. You can 
hear her calling to you now. Listen ! ” 

He held up his finger. The tide had turned, and 
through the half-open window came the low thunder 
of the waves. 

You decline to share my evening,” Mr. Fen- 
tolin concluded. “ Let it be so. Go your own way, 
Hamel, only take care that your way does not cross 
mine.” 

He backed his chair slowly and pressed the bell. 
Hamel felt himself dismissed. He passed out into 
the hall. The door of the drawing-room stood open, 
and he heard the sound of Mrs. Fentolin’s thin voice 
singing some little French song. He hesitated and 
then stepped in. With one hand she beckoned him 
to her, continuing to play all the time. He stepped 
over to her side. 


284 the vanished MESSENGER 

I come to make my adieux,” he whispered, with 
a glance towards the door. 

“ You are leaving, then.^^ ” she asked quickly. 

He nodded. 

“ Mr. Fentolin is in a strange humour,” she went 
on, a moment later, after she had struck the final 
chords of her song. “ There are things going on 
around us which no one can understand. I think 
that one of his schemes has miscarried; he has gone 
too far. He suspects you ; I cannot tell you why or 
how. If only you would go away ! ” 

“What about Esther.?” he asked quietly. 

“ You must leave her,” she cried, with a little 
catch in her throat. “ Gerald has broken away. 
Esther and I must carry still the burden.” 

She motioned him to go. He touched her fingers 
for a moment. 

“ Mrs. Fentolin,” he said, “ I have been a good 
many years making up my mind. Now that I have 
done so, I do not think that any one will keep Esther 
from me.” 

She looked at him a little pitifully, a little wist- 
fully. Then, with a shrug of the shoulders, she 
turned round to the piano and recommenced to play. 
Hamel took his coat and hat from a servant who 
was waiting in the hall and passed out into the 
night. 

He walked briskly until he reached the Tower. 
The wind had risen, but there was still enough light 
to help him on his way. The little building was in 
complete darkness. He opened the door and stepped 
into the sitting-room, lit the lamp, and, holding it 
over his head, went down the passage and into the 


THE VANISHED MESSENGER 285 

kitchen. Then he gave a start. The lamp nearly 
slipped from his fingers. Kneeling on the stone 
floor, in very much the same attitude as he had 
found her earlier in the day, Hannah Cox was crouch- 
ing patiently by the door which led into the boat- 
house, her face expressionless, her ear turned towards 
the crack. She was still listening. 


CHAPTER XXXI 


Hamel set down the lamp upon the table. He 
glanced at the little clock upon the dresser; it was 
a quarter past ten. The woman had observed his 
entrance, although it seemed in no way to have dis- 
composed her. 

“Do you know the time, Mrs. Cox?” he asked. 
“ You ought to have been home hours ago. What 
are you doing there? ” 

She rose to her feet. Her expression was one 
of dogged but patient humility. 

“ I started for home before nine o’clock, sir,” she 
told him, “ but it was worse than ever to-night. All 
the way along by the sea I seemed to hear their 
voices, so I came back. I came back to listen. I 
have been listening for an hour.” 

Hamel looked at her with a frown upon his fore- 
head. 

“ Mrs. Cox,” he said, “ I wish I could understand 
what it is that you have in your mind. Those are 
not real voices that you hear; you cannot believe 
that? ” 

“ Not real voices,” she repeated, without the slight- 
est expression in her tone. 

“ Of course not ! And tell me what connection 
you find between these fancies of yours and that 
room? Why do you come and listen here? ” 

“ I do not know,” she answered patiently. 


THE VANISHED MESSENGER 287 

“ You must have some reason,” he persisted. 

“ I have no reason,” she assured him, “ only 
some day I shall see behind these doors. After- 
wards, I shall hear the voices no more.” 

She was busy tying a shawl around her head. 
Hamel watched her, still puzzled. He could not get 
rid of the idea that there was some method behind 
her madness. 

‘‘ Tell me — I have found you listening here be- 
fore. Have you ever heard anything suspicious.?” 

‘‘ I have heard nothing yet,” she admitted, ‘‘ noth- 
ing that counts.” 

“ Come,” he continued, ‘‘ couldn’t we clear this 
matter up sensibly.? Do you believe that there is 
anybody in there.? Do you believe the place is be- 
ing used in any way for a wrong purpose.? If so, 
we will insist upon having the keys from Mr. Fen- 
tolin. He cannot refuse. The place is mine.” 

“ Mr. Fentolin would not give you the keys, sir,” 
she replied. If he did, it would be useless.” 

‘‘ Would you like me to break the door in.? ” 
Hamel asked. 

“ You could not do it, sir,” she told him, not 
you nor anybody else. The door is thicker than 
my fist, of solid oak. It was a mechanic from New 
York who fitted the locks. I have heard it said in 
the village — Bill Hamas, the carpenter, declares 
that there are double doors. The workmen who 
were employed here were housed in a tent upon the 
beach and sent home the day they finished their job. 
They were never allowed in the village. They were 
foreigners, most of them. They came from nobody 
knows where, and when they had finished they disap- 


288 THE VANISHED MESSENGER 

peared. Why was that, sir? What is there inside 
which Mr. Fentolin needs to guard so carefully? ” 

“ Mr. Fentolin has invented something,” Hamel 
explained. “ He keeps the model in there. Inven- 
tors are very jealous of their work.” 

She looked down upon the floor for a moment. 

“ I shall be here at seven o’clock in the morning, 
sir. I will give you your breakfast at the usual 
time.” 

Hamel opened the door for her. 

‘‘ Good night, Mrs. Cox,” he said. “ Would you 
like me to walk a little way with you? It’s a lonely 
path to the village, and the dikes are full.” 

“ Thank you, no, sir,” she replied. “ It’s a lonely 
way, right enough, but it isn’t loneliness that 
frightens me. I am less afraid out with the winds 
and the darkness than under this roof. If I lose my 
way and wander all night upon the marsh. I’ll be 
safer out there than you, sir.” 

She passed away, and Hamel watched her disap- 
pear into the darkness. Then he dragged out a 
bowl of tobacco and filled a pipe. Although he was 
half ashamed of himself, he strolled back once more 
into the kitchen, and, drawing up a stool, he sat 
down just where he had discovered Hannah Cox, sat 
still and listened. No sound of any sort reached 
him. He sat there for ten minutes. Then he 
scrambled to his feet. 

‘‘ She is mad, of course ! ” he muttered. 

He mixed himself a whisky and soda, relit his 
pipe, which had gone out, and drew up an easy-chair 
to the fire which she had left him in the sitting-room. 
The wind had increased in violence, and the panes 


THE VANISHED MESSENGER 289 

of his window rattled continually. He yawned and 
tried to fancy that he was sleepy. It was useless. 
He was compelled to admit the truth — that his 
nerves were all on edge. In a sense he was afraid. 
The thought of bed repelled him. He had not a 
single impulse towards repose. Outside, the wind all 
the time was gathering force. More than once his 
window was splashed with the spray carried on by 
the wind which followed the tide. He sat quite still 
and tried to think calmly, tried to piece together in 
his mind the sequence of events which had brought 
him to this part of the world and which had led 
to his remaining where he was, an undesired 
hanger-on at the threshold of Miles Fentolin. He 
had the feeling that to-night he had burned his boats. 
There was no longer any pretence of friendliness 
possible between him and this strange creature. Mr. 
Fentolin suspected him, realised that he himself was 
suspected. But of what ? Hamel moved in his chair 
restlessly. Sometimes that gathering cloud of sus- 
picion seemed to him grotesque. Of what real harm 
could he be capable, this little autocrat who from 
his chair seemed to exercise such a malign influence 
upon every one with whom he was brought into con- 
tact? Hamel sighed. The riddle was Insoluble. 
With a sudden rush of warmer and more joyous 
feelings, he let the subject slip away from him. He 
closed his eyes and dreamed for a while. There 
was a new world before him, jpys which only so short 
a time ago he had fancied had passed him by. 

He sat up in his chair with a start. The fire had 
become merely a handful of grey ashes, his limbs were 
numb and stiff. The lamp was flickering out. He 


290 THE VANISHED MESSENGER 

had been dozing, how long he had no idea. Some- 
thing had awakened him abruptly. There was a 
cold draught blowing through the room. He turned 
his head, his hands still gripping the sides of his 
chair. His heart gave a leap. The outer door was 
a few inches open, was being held open by some in- 
visible force. There was some one there, some one on 
the point of entering stealthily. Even as he watched, 
the crack became a little wider. He sat with his 
eyes riveted upon that opening space. The unseen 
hand was still at work. Every instant he expected 
to see a face thrust forward. The sensation of ab- 
solute physical fear by which he was oppressed was 
a revelation to him. He found himself wishing al- 
most feverishly that he was armed. The physical 
strength in which he had trusted seemed to him at 
that instant a valueless and impotent thing. There 
was a splash of spray or raindrops against the 
window and through the crack in the door. The 
lamp chimney hissed and spluttered and finally the 
light went out. The room was in sudden darkness. 
Hamel sprang then to his feet. Silence had become 
an intolerable thing. He felt the close presence of 
another human being creeping in upon him. 

“ Who’s there? ” he cried. “ Who’s there, I say? ” 

There was no direct answer, only the door was 
pushed a little further open. He had stepped close 
to it now. The sweep of the wind was upon his 
face, although in the black darkness he could see 
nothing. And then a sudden recollection flashed in 
upon him. From his trousers pocket he snatched a 
little electric torch. In an instant his thumb had 
pressed the button. He turned it upon the door. 


THE VANISHED MESSENGER 291 

The shivering white hand which held it open was 
plainly in view. It was the hand of a woman! He 
stepped swiftly forward. A dark figure almost fell 
into his arms. 

“ Mrs. Fentolin! ” he exclaimed, aghast. 

An hysterical cry, choked and subdued, broke from 
her lips. He half carried, half led her to his easy- 
chair. Suddenly steadied by the presence of this un- 
looked-for emergency, he closed the outside door and 
relit the lamp with firm fingers. Then he turned to 
face her, and his amazement at this strange visit be- 
came consternation. 

She was still in her dinner-gown of black satin, 
but it was soaked through with the rain and hung 
about her like a black shroud. She had lost one 
shoe, and there was a great hole in her silk stocking. 
Her hair was all disarranged; one of its numerous 
switches was hanging down over her ear. The rouge 
upon her cheeks had run down on to her neck. She 
sat there, looking at him out of her hollow eyes like 
some trapped animal. She was shaking with fear. 
It was fear, not faintness, which kept her silent. 

Tell me, please, what is the matter.?^ ” he insisted, 
speaking as indifferently as he could. ‘‘ Tell me at 
once what has happened.^ ” 

She pointed to the door. 

‘‘ Lock it ! ” she implored. 

He turned down the latch and drew the bolt. The 
sound seemed to give her a little courage. Her 
fingers went to her throat for a moment. 

‘‘ Give me some water.” 

He poured out some soda-water. She drank only 
a sip and put it down again. He began to be 


292 THE VANISHED MESSENGER 

alarmed. She had the appearance of one who has 
suddenly lost her senses. 

“Please tell me just what has happened.?” he 
begged. “ If I can help in any way, you know I 
will. But you must tell me. Do you realise that it 
is three o’clock.? I should have been in bed, only I 
went to sleep over the fire here.” 

“ I know,” she answered. “ It is just the wind 
that has taken away my breath. It was a hard 
struggle to get here. Listen — you are our friend, 
Mr. Hamel — Esther’s and mine.? Swear that you 
are our*friend.? ” 

“ Upon my honour, I am,” he assured her. “ You 
should know that.” 

“ For eight years,” she went on, her voice clear 
enough now, although it seemed charged with a 
curious metallic vibration, “ for eight years we’ve 
borne it, all three of us, slaves, bound hand and foot, 
lashed with his tongue, driven along the path of his 
desires. We have seen evil things. We have been 
on the point of rebellion, and he’s come a little 
nearer and he’s pointed back. He has taken me by 
the hand, and I have walked by the side of his chair, 
loathing it, loathing myself, out on to the terrace 
and down below, just where it happened. You 
know what happened there, Mr. Hamel.? ” 

“ You mean where Mr. Fentolin met with his ac- 
cident.” 

“ It was no accident ! ” she cried, glancing for a 
moment around her. “ It was no accident ! It was 
my husband who took him up and threw him over 
the terrace, down below; my husband who tried to 
kill him ; Esther’s father — Gerald’s father ! Miles 


THE VANISHED MESSENGER 293 

was in the Foreign Office then, and he did something 
disgraceful. He sold a secret to Austria. He was 
always a great gambler, and he was in debt. Sey- 
mour found out about it. He followed him down 
here. They met upon the terrace. I — I saw it ! ” 
He was silent for a moment. 

No one has known the truth,” he murmured. 
“No one has ever known,” she assented, “ and 
our broken lives have been the price. It was Miles 
himself who made the bargain. We — we can’t go 
on, Mr. Hamel.” 

“ I begin to understand,” Hamel said softly. 
“ You suffer everything from Miles Fentolin because 
he kept the secret. Very well, that belongs to the 
past. Something has happened, something to-night, 
which has brought you here. Tell me about it ? ” 
Once more her voice began to shake. 

“ We’ve seen — terrible things — horrible things,” 
she faltered. “ We’ve held our peace. Perhaps it’s 
been nearly as bad before, but we’ve closed our eyes ; 
we haven’t wanted to know. Now — we can’t help 
it. Mr. Hamel, Esther isn’t at Lord Saxthorpe’s. 
She never went there. They didn’t ask her. And 
Dunster — the man Dunster — ” 

“Where is Esther.?” Hamel interrupted sud- 
denly. 

“ Locked up away from you, locked up because 
she rebelled ! ” 

“ And Dunster ? ” 

She shook her head. Her eyes were filled with 
horror. 

“ But he left the Hall — I saw him ! ” 

She shook her head. 


294 the vanished MESSENGER 

“ It wasn’t Dunster. It was the man Miles makes 
use of — Ryan, the librarian. He was once an 
actor.” 

“ Where is Dunster, then? ” Hamel asked quickly. 
‘‘ What has become of him ? ” 

She opened her lips and closed them again, strug- 
gled to speak and failed. She sat there, breathing 
quickly, but silent. The power of speech had gone. 


CHAPTER XXXII 


Hamel, for the next few minutes, forgot every- 
thing else in his efforts to restore to consciousness 
his unexpected visitor. He rebuilt the fire, heated 
some water upon his spirit lamp, and forced some 
hot drink between the lips of the woman who was 
now almost in a state of collapse. Then he wrapped 
her round in his own ulster and drew her closer to 
the fire. He tried during those few moments to put 
away the memory of all that she had told him. 
Gradually she began to recover. She opened her 
eyes and drew a little sigh. She made no effort at 
speech, however. She simply lay and looked at him 
like some wounded animal. He came over to her 
side and chafed one of her cold hands. 

Come,” he said at last, “ you begin to look more 
like yourself now. You are quite safe in here, and, 
for Esther’s sake as well as your own, you know that 
I am your friend.” 

She nodded, and her fingers gently pressed his. 

“ I am sure of it,” she murmured. 

“ Now let us see where we are,” he continued. 
“ Tell me exactly why you risked so much by leav- 
ing St. David’s Hall to-night and coming down here. 
Isn’t there any chance that he might find out? ” 

“ I don’t know,” she answered. “ It was Lucy 
Price who sent me. She came to my room just as I 
was undressing.” 


296 THE VANISHED MESSENGER 

“Lucy Price,” he repeated. “The secretary?” 

“ Yes ! She told me that she had meant to come 
to you herself. She sent me instead. She thought 
it best. This man Dunster is being kept alive be- 
cause there is something Miles wants him to tell him, 
and he won’t. But to-night, if he is still alive, if he 
won’t tell, they mean to make away with him. They 
are afraid.” 

“ Miss Price told you this ? ” Hamel asked gravely. 

Mrs. Fentolin nodded. 

“ Yes ! She said so. She knows — she knows 
everything. She has been like the rest of us. She, 
too, has suffered. She, too, has reached the breaking 
point. She loved him before — the accident. She 
has been his slave ever since. Listen ! ” 

She suddenly clutched his arm. They were both 
silent. There was nothing to be heard but the wind. 
She leaned a little closer to him. 

“ Lucy Price sent me here to-night because she 
was afraid that it was to-night they meant to take 
him from his hiding-place and kill him. The police 
have left off searching for Mr. Dunster in Yarmouth 
and at The Hague. There is a detective in the 
neighbourhood and another one on his way here. 
They are afraid to keep him alive any longer.” 

“ Where was Mr. Fentolin when you left? ” Hamel 
asked. 

“ I asked Lucy Price that,” she replied. “ When 
she came to my room, there were no signs of his 
leaving. She told me to come and tell you every- 
thing. Do you know where Mr. Dunster is ? ” 

Hamel shook his head. 

“ Within a few yards of here,” she went on. “ He 


THE VANISHED MESSENGER 297 

is in the boat-house, the place where Miles told you 
he kept a model of his invention. They brought him 
here the night before they put his clothes on Ryan 
and sent him off disguised as Mr. Dunster, in the car 
to Yarmouth.” 

Hamel started up, but she clutched at his arm 
and pulled him back. “ No,” she cried, ‘‘ you can’t 
break in! There are double doors and a wonderful 
lock. The boat-house is yours ; the building is yours. 
In the morning you must demand the keys — if he 
does not come to-night ! ” 

“ And how are we to know,” Hamel asked, if 
he comes to-night ? ” 

“ Go outside,” she whispered. ‘‘ Look towards St. 
David’s Hall and tell me how many lights you can 
see.” 

He drew back the bolt, unlatched the door, and 
stepped out into the darkness. The wind and the 
driving rain beat against his face. A cloud of spray 
enveloped and soaked him. Like lamps hung in the 
sky, the lights of St. David’s Hall shone out through 
the black gulf. He counted them carefully ; then he 
stepped back. 

“ There are seven,” he told her, closing the door 
with an effort. 

She counted upon her fingers. 

“ I must come and see,” she muttered. “ I must 
be sure. Help me.” 

He lifted her to her feet, and they staggered out 
together. 

“Look!” she went on, gripping his arm. “You 
see that row of lights.? If anything happens, if Mr. 
Fentolin leaves the Hall to-night to come down here, 


298 THE VANISHED MESSENGER 

a light will appear on the left in the far corner. We 
must watch for that light. We must watch — ” 

The words, whispered hoarsely into his ear, sud- 
denly died away. Even as they stood there, far away 
from the other lights, another one shone suddenly 
out in the spot towards which she had pointed, and 
continued to burn steadily. He felt the woman who 
was clinging to his arm become suddenly a dead 
weight. 

‘‘ She was right ! ” Mrs. Fentolin moaned. He 
is coming down to-night 1 He is preparing to leave 
now; perhaps he has already started! What shall 
we do ? What shall we do ? ” 

Hamel was conscious of a gathering sense of ex- 
citement. He, too, looked at the signal which was 
flashing out its message towards them. Then he 
gripped his companion’s arm and almost carried her 
back into the sitting-room. 

“ Look here,” he said flrmly, “ you can do noth- 
ing further. You have done your part and done 
it well. Stay where you are and wait. The rest 
belongs to me.” 

“ But what can you do ? ” she demanded, her voice 
shaking with fear. “ Meekins will come with him, 
and Doctor Sarson, unless he is here already. What 
can you do against them? Meekins can break any 
ordinary man’s back, and Mr. Fentolin will have a 
revolver.” 

Hamel threw another log on to the fire and drew 
her chair closer to it. 

“ Never mind about me,” he declared cheerfully. 
‘‘ Mr. Fentolin is too clever to attempt violence, ex- 
cept as a last resource. He knows that I have 


THE VANISHED MESSENGER 299 

friends in London who would need some explanation 
of my disappearance. Stay here and wait.” 

She recognised the note of authority in his tone, 
and she bowed her head. Then she looked up at 
him ; she was a changed woman. 

“ Perhaps I have done ill to drag you into our 
troubles, Mr. Hamel,” she said, “ and yet, I believe 
in you. I believe that you really care for Esther. 
If you can he.lp us now, it will be for your happiness, 
too. You are a man. God bless you ! ” 

Hamel groped his way round the side of the Tower 
and took up a position at the extreme corner of the 
landward side of the building, within a yard of the 
closed doors. The light far out upon the left was 
still gleaming brightly, but two of the others in a 
line with it had disappeared. He flattened himself 
against the wall and waited, listening intently, his 
eyes straining through the darkness. Yet they were 
almost upon him before he had the slightest indica- 
tion of their presence. A single gleam of light in 
the path, come and gone like a flash, the gleam of an 
electric torch directed momentarily towards the road, 
was his first indication that they were near. A mo- 
ment or two later he heard the strange click, click 
of the little engine attached to Mr. Fentolin’s chair. 
Hamel set his teeth and stepped a few inches further 
back. The darkness was so intense that they were 
actually within a yard or so of him before he could 
even dimly discern their shapes. There were three 
of them — Mr. Fentolin in his chair. Doctor Sarson, 
and Meekins. They paused for a moment while the 
latter produced a key. Hamel distinctly heard a 
slow, soft whisper from Doctor Sarson. 


300 THE VANISHED MESSENGER 

“ Shall I go round to the front and see that he is 
in bed? 

“No need,” Mr. Fentolin replied calmly. “ It is 
nearly four o’clock. Better not to risk the sound of 
your footsteps upon the pebbles. Now!” 

The door swung noiselessly open. The darkness 
was so complete that even though Hamel could have 
touched them with an outstretched hand, their shapes 
were invisible. Hamel, who had formed no definite 
plans, had no time to hesitate. As the last one dis- 
appeared through the door, he, too, slipped in. He 
turned abruptly to the left and, holding his breath, 
stood against the wall. The door closed behind 
them. The gleam of the electric light flashed across 
the stone floor and rested for a moment upon a trap- 
door, which Meekins had already stooped to lift. 
It fell back noiselessly upon rubber studs, and Mee- 
kins immediately slipped through it a ladder, on 
either side of which was a grooved stretch of board, 
evidently fashioned to allow Mr. Fentolin’s carriage 
to pass down. Hamel held his breath. The moment 
for him was critical. If the light flashed once in his 
direction, he must be discovered. Both Meekins and 
Doctor Sarson, however, were intent upon the task 
of steering Mr. Fentolin’s little carriage down be- 
low. They placed the wheels in the two grooves, 
and Meekins secured the carriage with a rope which 
he let run through his fingers. As soon as the little 
vehicle had apparently reached the bottom, he 
turned, thrust the electric torch in his pocket, and 
stepped lightly down the ladder. Doctor Sarson 
followed his example. They disappeared in perfect 
silence and left the door open. Presently a gleam 


THE VANISHED MESSENGER 301 

of light came travelling up, from which Hamel knew 
that they had lit a lamp below. Very softly he crept 
across the floor, threw himself upon his stomach and 
peered down. Below him was a room, or rather a 
cellar, parts of which seemed to have been cut out 
of the solid rock. Immediately underneath was a 
plain iron bedstead, on which was lying stretched the 
figure of a man. In those first few moments Hamel 
failed altogether to recognise Mr. Dunster. He was 
+hin and white, and he seemed to have shrunken ; his 
face, with its coarse growth of beard, seemed like the 
face of an old man. Yet the eyes were open, eyes 
dull and heavy as though with pain. So far no word 
had been spoken, but at that moment Mr. Fentolin 
broke the silence. 

‘‘ My dear guest,” he said, “ I bring you our most 
sincere apologies. It has gone very much against 
the grain, I can assure you, to have neglected you 
for so long a time. It is entirely the fault of the 
very troublesome young man who occupies the other 
portion of this building. In the daytime his pres- 
ence makes it exceedingly difiicult for us to offer you 
those little attentions which you might naturally ex- 
pect.” 

The man upon the bed neither moved nor changed 
his position in any way. Nor did he speak. All 
power of initiative seemed to have deserted him. 
He lay quite still, his eyes fixed upon Mr. Fentolin. 

‘‘ There comes a time,” the latter continued, ‘‘ when 
every one of us is confronted with what might be de- 
scribed as the crisis of our lives. Yours has come, 
my guest, at precisely this moment. It is, if my 
watch tells me the truth, five and twenty minutes to 


302 THE VANISHED MESSENGER 

four. It is the last day of April. The year you 
know. You have exactly one minute to decide 
whether you will live a short time longer, or whether 
you will on this last day of April, and before 
— say, a quarter to four, make that little journey 
the nature of which you and I have discussed more 
than once.” 

Still the man upon the bed made no movement nor 
any reply. Mr. Fentolin sighed and beckoned to 
Doctor Sarson. 

“ I am afraid,” he whispered, “ that that wonder- 
ful drug of yours. Doctor, has been even a little too 
far-reaching in its results. It has kept our friend 
so quiet that he has lost even the power of speech, 
pjsrhaps even the desire to speak. A little restora- 
tive, I think — just a few drops.” 

Doctor Sarson nodded silently. He drew from 
his pocket a little phial and poured into a wine-glass 
which stood on a table by the side of the bed, half a 
dozen drops of some ruby-coloured liquid, to which 
he added a tablespoonful of water. Then he leaned 
once more over the bed and poured the contents of 
the glass between the lips of the semi-conscious man. 

“ Give him two minutes,” he said calmly. “ He 
will be able to speak then.” 

Mr. Fentolin nodded and leaned back in his chair. 
He glanced around the room a little critically. 
There was a thick carpet upon the floor, a sofa piled 
wdth cushions in one corner, and several other arti- 
cles of furniture. The walls, however, were uncov- 
ered and were stained with damp. A great pink fun- 
gus stood out within a few inches of the bed, a grim 
mixture of exquisite colouring and loathsome imper- 


THE VANISHED MESSENGER 303 

fections. The atmosphere was fetid. Meekins sud- 
denly struck a match and lit some grains of powder 
in a saucer. A curious odour of incense stole through 
the place. Mr. Fentolin nodded appreciatively. 

“ That is better,” he declared. “ Really, the at- 
mosphere here is positively unpleasant. I am 
ashamed to think that our guest has had to put up 
with it so long. And yet,” he went on, “ I think we 
must call it his own fault. I trust that he will no 
longer be obstinate.” 

The effect of the restorative began to show itself. 
The man on the bed moved restlessly. His eyes were 
no longer altogether expressionless. He was staring 
at Mr. Fentolin as one looks at some horrible vision. 
Mr. Fentolin smiled pleasantly. 

‘‘ Now you are looking more like your old self, 
my dear Mr. Dunster,” he remarked. “ I don’t 
think that I need repeat what I said when I first 
came, need I.^ You have just to utter that one word, 
and your little visit to us will be at an end.” 

The man looked around at all of them. He raised 
himself a little on his elbow. For the first time, 
Hamel, crouching above, recognised any likeness to 
Mr. John P. Dunster. 

“ I’ll see you in hell first ! ” 

Mr. Fentolin’s face momentarily darkened. He 
moved a little nearer to the man upon the bed. 

“ Dunster,” he said, ‘‘ I am in grim earnest. 
Never mind arguments. Never mind why I am on 
the other side. They are restless about you in 
America. Unless I can cable that word to-morrow 
morning, they’ll communicate direct with The Hague, 
and I shall have had my trouble for nothing. It is 


304 THE VANISHED MESSENGER 

not my custom to put up with failure. Therefore, 
let me tell you that no single one of my threats has 
been exaggerated. My patience has reached its 
breaking point. Give me that word, or before four 
o’clock strikes, you will find yourself in a new cham- 
ber, among the corpses of those misguided fisher- 
men, mariners of ancient days, and a few others. 
It’s only a matter of fifty yards out to the great sea 
pit below the Dagger Rocks — I’ve spoken to you 
about it before, haven’t I? So surely as I speak to 
you of it at this moment — ” 

Mr. Fentolin’s speech came to an abrupt termina- 
tion. A convulsive movement of Meekins’, an ex- 
pression of blank amazement on the part of Doctor 
Sarson, had suddenly checked the words upon his 
lips. He turned his head quickly in the direction 
towards which they had been gazing, towards which 
in fact, at that moment, Meekins, with a low cry, had 
made a fruitless spring. The ladder down which 
they had descended was slowly disappearing. Mee- 
kins, with a jump, missed the last rung by only a few 
inches. Some unseen hand was drawing it up. Al- 
ready the last few feet were vanishing in mid-air. 
Mr. Fentolin sat quite quiet and still. He looked 
through the trap-door and saw Hamel. 

‘‘ Most ingenious and, I must confess, most suc- 
cessful, my young friend ! ” he exclaimed pleasantly. 
“ When you have made the ladder quite secure, per- 
haps you will be so good as to discuss this little mat- 
ter with us.?* ” 

There was no Immediate reply. The eyes of all 
four men were turned now upon that empty space 
through which the ladder, had finally disappeared. 


THE VANISHED MESSENGER 305 

Mr. Fentolin’s fingers disappeared within the pocket 
of his coat. Something very bright was glistening 
in his hand when he withdrew it. 

‘‘ Come and parley with us, Mr. Hamel,” he 
begged. “ You will not find us unreasonable.” 

Hamel’s voice came back in reply, but Hamel him- 
self kept well away from the opening. 

The conditions,” he said, “ are unpropitious. 
A little time for reflection will do you no harm.” 

The trap-doors were suddenly closed. Mr. Fen- 
tolin’s face, as he looked up, became diabolic. 

“We are trapped!” he muttered; “caught like 
rats in a hole ! ” 


CHAPTER XXXIII 


A gleam of day was in the sky as Hamel, with Mrs. 
Fentolin by his side, passed along the path which led 
from the Tower to St. David’s Hall. Lights were 
still burning from its windows ; the outline of the 
building itself was faintly defined against the sky. 
Behind him, across the sea, was that one straight line 
of grey merging into silver. The rain had ceased 
and the wind had dropped. On either side of them 
stretched the brimming creeks. 

“ Can we get into the house without waking any 
one.f^ ” he asked. 

“Quite easily,” she assured him. “ The, front 
door is never barred.” 

She walked by his side, swiftly and with surpris- 
ing vigour. In the still, grey light, her face was more 
ghastly than ever, but there was a new firmness 
about her mouth, a new decision in her tone. They 
reached the Hall without further speech, and she led 
the way to a small door on the eastern side, through 
which they entered noiselessly and passed along a lit- 
tle passage out into the hall. A couple of lights 
were still burning. The place seemed full of shad- 
ows. 

“What are you going to do now.^^” she whis- 
pered. 

“ I want to ring up London on the telephone,” he 
replied. “ I know that there is a detective either in 


THE VANISHED MESSENGER 307 

the neighbourhood or on his way here, but I shall tell 
my friend that he had better come down himself.” 

She nodded. 

“ I am going to release Esther,” she said. “ She 
is locked in her room. The telephone is in the study. 
I will come down there to you.” 

She passed silently up the broad staircase. Hamel 
groped his way across the hall into the library. He 
turned on the small electric reading-lamp and drew 
up a chair to the side of the telephone. Even as he 
lifted the receiver to his ear, he looked around him 
half apprehensively. It seemed as though every mo- 
ment he would hear the click of Mr. Fentolin’s chair. 

He got the exchange at Norwich without difficulty, 
and a few minutes later a sleepy reply came from the 
number he had rung up in London. It was Kins- 
ley’s servant who answered. 

“ I want to speak to Mr. Kinsley at once upon 
most important business,” Hamel announced. 

“ Very sorry, sir,” the man replied. “ Mr. Kins- 
ley left town last night for the country.” 

“ Where has he gone.?^ ” Hamel demanded quickly. 
‘‘ You can tell me. You know who I am; I am Mr. 
Hamel.” 

‘‘ Into Norfolk somewhere, sir. He went with sev- 
eral other gentlemen.” 

“Is that Bullen.f^” Hamel asked. 

The man admitted the fact. 

“ Can you tell me if any of the people with whom 
Mr. Kinsley left London were connected with the 
police ” he inquired. 

The man hesitated. 

“ I believe so, sir,” he admitted. “ The gentlemen 


3o8 the vanished MESSENGER 

started in a motor-car and were going to drive all 
night.” 

Hamel laid down the receiver. At any rate, he 
would not be left long with this responsibility upon 
him. He walked out into the hall. The house was 
still wrapped in deep silence. Then, from somewhere 
above him, coming down the stairs, he heard the rus- 
tle of a woman’s gown. He looked up, and saw Miss 
Price, fully dressed, coming slowly towards him. 
She held up her finger and led the way back into the 
library. She was dressed as neatly as ever, but there 
was a queer light in her eyes. 

“ I have seen Mrs. Seymour Fentolin,” she said. 
“ She tells me that you have left Mr. Fentolin and the 
others in the subterranean room of the Tower.” 

Hamel nodded. 

‘‘ They have Dunster down there,” he told her. 
“ I followed them in ; it seemed the best thing to do. 
I have a friend from London who is on his way down 
here now with some detective officers, to enquire into 
the matter of Dunster’s disappearance.” 

“ Are you going to leave them where they are until 
these people arrive ? ” she asked. 

“ I think so,” he replied, after a moment’s hesita- 
tion. “ I don’t seem to have had time to consider 
even what to do. The opportunity came, and I em- 
braced it. There they are, and they won’t dare to 
do any further harm to Dunster now. Mrs. Fentolin 
was down in my room, and I thought it best to bring 
her back first before I even parleyed with them 
again.” 

“ You must be careful,” she advised slowly. 
“ The man Dunster has been drugged, he has lost 


THE VANISHED MESSENGER 309 

some of his will ; he may have lost some of his mental 
balance. Mr. Fentolin is clever. He will find a 
dozen ways to wriggle out of any charge that can be 
brought against him. You know what he has really 
done.f* ” 

“ I can guess.” 

“ He has kept back a document signed by the 
twelve men in America who control the whole of Wall 
Street, who control practically the money markets 
of the world. That document is a warning to Ger- 
many that they will have no war against England. 
Owing to Mr. Fentolin, it has not been delivered, and 
the Conference is sitting now. War may be declared 
at any moment.” 

“ But as a matter of common sense,” Hamel asked, 
“ why does Mr. Fentolin desire war.? ” 

“ You do not understand Mr. Fentolin,” she told 
him quietly. “ He is not like other men. There are 
some who live almost entirely for the sake of making 
others happy, who find joy in seeing people content 
and satisfied. Mr. Fentolin is the reverse of this. 
He has but one craving in life : to see pain in others. 
To see a human being suffer is to him a debauch of 
happiness. A war which laid this country waste 
would fill him with a delight which you could never 
understand. There are no normal human beings like 
this. It is a disease in the man, a disease which came 
upon him after his accident.” 

Yet you have all been his slaves,” Hamel said 
curiously. 

We have all been his slaves,” she admitted, “ for 
different reasons. Before his accident came, Mr. 
Fentolin was my master and the only man in the 


310 THE VANISHED MESSENGER 

world for me. After his accident, I think mj feel- 
ings for him, if anything, grew stronger. I became 
his slave. I sold my conscience, my self-respect, 
everything in life worth having, to bring a smile to his 
lips, to help him through a single moment of his mis- 
ery. And just lately the reaction has come. He 
has played with me just as he would sit and pull the 
legs out of a spider to watch its agony. I have been 
one of his favourite amusements. And even now, if 
he came into this room I think that I should be help- 
less. I should probably fall at his feet and pray for 
forgiveness.” 

Hamel looked at her wonderingly. 

“ I have come down to warn you,” she went on. 
“ It is possible that this is the beginning of the end, 
that his wonderful fortune will desert him, that his 
star has gone down. But remember that he has the 
brains and courage of genius. You think that you 
have him in a trap. Don’t be surprised, when you 
go back, to find that he has turned the tables upon 
you.” 

“ Impossible ! ” Hamel declared. ‘‘ I looked all 
round the place. There isn’t a window or opening 
anywhere. The trap-door is in the middle of the 
ceiling and it is fifteen feet from the floor. It shuts 
with a spring.” 

‘‘ It may be as you say,” she observed. “ It may 
be that he is safe. Remember, though, if you go near 
him, that he is desperate.” 

“ Do you know where Miss Fentolin is ? ” he inter- 
rupted. 

“ She is with her mother,” the woman replied, im- 
patiently. “ She is coming down. Tell me, what 


THE VANISHED MESSENGER sit 

are you going to do with Mr. Fentolin.? Nothing 
else matters.” 

“ I have a friend,” Hamel answered, “ who will see 
to that.” 

If you are relying upon the law,” she said, “ I 
think you will find that the law cannot touch him. 
Mr. Dunster was brought to the house in a perfectly 
natural manner. He was certainly injured, and in- 
jured in a railway accident. Doctor Sarson is a 
fully qualified surgeon, and he will declare that Mr. 
Dunster was unfit to travel. If necessary, they will 
have destroyed the man’s intelligence. If you think 
that you have him broken, let me warn you that you 
may be disappointed. Let me, if I may, give you 
one word of advice.” 

“ Please do,” Hamel begged. 

She looked at him coldly. Her tone was still free 
from any sort of emotion. 

“You have taken up some sort of position here,” 
she continued, “ as a friend of Mrs. Seymour Fento- 
lin, a friend of the family. Don’t let them come back 
under the yoke. You know the secret of their bond- 
age? ” 

“ I know it,” he admitted. 

“ They have been his slaves because their absolute 
obedience to his will was one of the conditions of his 
secrecy. He has drawn the cords too tight. Better 
let the truth be known, if needs be, than have their 
three lives broken. Don’t let them go back under his 
governance. For me, I cannot tell. If he comes 
back, as he will come back, I may become his slave 
again, but let them break away. Listen — that is 
Mrs. Fentolin.” 


3i2 THE VANISHED MESSENGER 

She left him. Hamel followed her out into the 
hall. Esther and her mother were already at the foot 
of the stairs. He drew them into the study. Esther 
gave him her hands, but she was trembling in every 
limb. 

“ I am terrified ! ” she whispered. “ Every mo- 
ment I think I can hear the click of that awful car- 
riage. He will come back; I am sure he will come 
back!” 

“ He may,” Hamel answered sturdily, ‘‘ but never 
to make you people his slaves again. You have done 
enough. You have earned your freedom.” 

‘‘ I agree,” Mrs. Fentolin said firmly. ‘‘We have 
gone on from sacrifice to sacrifice, until it has become 
a habit with us to consider him the master of our 
bodies and our souls. To-day, Esther, we have 
reached the breaking point. Not even for the sake 
of that message from the other side of the grave, not 
even to preserve his honour and his memory, can we 
do more.” 

Hamel held up his finger. He opened the French 
windows, and they followed him out on to the ter- 
race. The grey dawn had broken now over the sea. 
There were gleams of fitful sunshine on the marshes. 
Some distance away a large motor-car was coming 
rapidly along the road. 


CHAPTER XXXIV 


Mr. John P. Dunster, lying flat upon his little bed, 
watched with dilated eyes the disappearance of the 
ladder. Then he laughed. It was a queer sound — 
broken, spasmodic, devoid of any of the ordinary ele- 
ments of humor — and yet it was a laugh. Mr. Fen- 
tolin turned his head towards his prisoner and nodded 
thoughtfully. 

“ What a constitution, my friend ! ” he exclaimed, 
without any trace of disturbance in his voice. “ And 
what a sense of humour ! Strange that a trifling cir- 
cumstance like this should affect it. Meekins, burn 
some more of the powder. The atmosphere down 
here may be salubrious, but I am unaccustomed to it.” 

“ Perhaps,” Mr. Dunster said in a hollow tone, 
you will have some opportunity now of discovering 
with me what it is like.” 

“ That, too, is just possible,” Mr. Fentolin admit- 
ted, blowing out a little volume of smoke from a 
cigarette which he had just lit, “ but one never knows. 
We have friends, and our position, although, I must 
admit, a little ridiculous, is easily remedied. But 
how that mischief-making Mr. Hamel could have 
found his way into the boat-house does, I must con- 
fess, perplex me.” 

He must have been hanging around and followed 
us in when we came,” Meekins muttered. “ Some- 
how, I fancied I felt some one near.” 


314 THE VANISHED MESSENGER 

“ Our young friend,” Mr. Fentolin continued, 
“ has, without doubt, an obvious turn of mind. He 
will send for his acquaintance in the Foreign Office; 
they will haul out Mr. Duns ter here, and he will have 
a belated opportunity of delivering his message at 
The Hague.” 

“ You aren’t going to murder me first, then.^ ” Mr. 
Dunster grunted. 

Mr. Fentolin smiled at him benignly. 

My dear and valued guest,” he protested, “ why 
so forbidding an idea.'^ Let me assure you from the 
bottom of my heart that any bodily harm to you is 
the most unlikely thing in the world. You see, 
though you might not think it,” he went on, “ I love 
life. That is why I keep a doctor always by my side. 
That is why I insist upon his making a complete 
study of my constitution and treating me in every 
respect as though I were indeed an invalid. I am 
really only fifty-nine years old. It is my intention 
to live until I am eighty-nine. An offence against 
the law of the nature you indicate might interfere 
materially with my intentions.” 

Mr. Dunster struggled for a moment for breath. 

“ Look here,” he said, ‘‘ that’s all right, but do 
you suppose you won’t be punished for what you’ve 
done to me.? You laid a deliberate plot to bring me 
to St. David’s Hall ; you’ve kept me locked up, dosed 
me with drugs, brought me down here at the dead 
of night, kept me a prisoner in a dungeon. Do you 
think you can do that for nothing? Do you think 
you won’t have to suffer for it? ” 

Mr. Fentolin smiled. 

“ My dear Mr. Dunster,” he reminded him, “ you 


THE VANISHED MESSENGER 315 

were in a railway accident, you know ; there is no pos- 
sible doubt about that. And the wound in your head 
is still there, in a very dangerous place. Men who 
have been in railway accidents, and who have a gaping 
wound very close to their brain, are subject to delu- 
sions. I have simply done my best to play the Good 
Samaritan. Your clothes and papers are all un- 
touched. If my eminent physician had pronounced 
you ready to travel a week ago, you would certainly 
have been allowed to depart a week ago. Any inter- 
ference in your movements has been entirely in the 
interests of your health.” 

Mr. Dunster tried to sit up but found himself un- 
able. 

“ So you think they won’t believe my story, eh.? ” 
he muttered. “ Well, we shall see.” 

Mr. Fentolin thoughtfully contemplated the burn- 
ing end of his cigarette for a moment. 

‘‘ If I believed,” he said, “ that there was any 
chance of your statements being accepted, I am 
afraid I should be compelled, in all our interests, to 
ask Doctor Sarson to pursue just a step further that 
experiment into the anatomy of your brain with 
which he has already trifled.” 

Mr. Dunster’s face was suddenly ghastly. His re- 
serve of strength seemed to ebb away. The memory 
of some horrible moment seemed to hold him in its 
clutches. 

“ For God’s sake, leave me alone ! ” he moaned. 
“ Let me get away, that’s all ; let me crawl away ! ” 

“ Ah ! ” Mr. Fentolin murmured. “ That sounds 
much more reasonable. When you talk like that, my 
friend, I feel indeed that there is hope for you. Let 


3i6 the vanished MESSENGER 

us abandon this subject for the present. Have you 
solved the puzzle yet.? ” he asked Meekins. 

Meekins was standing below the closed trap-door. 
He had already dragged up a wooden case underneath 
and was piling it with various articles of furniture. 

“ Not yet, sir,” he replied. “ When I have made 
this steadier, I am just going to see what pressure I 
can bring to bear on the trap-door.” 

“ I heard the bolts go,” Doctor Sarson remarked 
uneasily. 

“ In that case,” Mr. Fentolin declared, “ it will in- 
deed be an interesting test of our friend Meekins’ 
boasted strength. Meekins holds his place — a very 
desirable place, too — chiefly for two reasons : first 
his discretion and secondly his muscles. He has 
never before had a real opportunity of testing the 
latter. We shall see.” 

Doctor Sarson came slowly and gravely to the bed- 
side. He looked down upon his patient. Mr. Dun- 
ster shivered. 

“ I am not sure, sir,” he said very softly, ‘‘ that 
Mr. Dunster, in his present state of mind, is a very 
safe person to be allowed his freedom. It is true that 
we have kept him here for his own sake, because of 
his fits of mental wandering. Our statements, how- 
ever, may be doubted. An apparent return to san- 
ity on his part may lend colour to his accusations, es- 
pecially if permanent. Perhaps it would be as well 
to pursue that investigation a shade further. A 
touch more to the left and *I do not think that Mr. 
Dunster will remember much in this world likely to 
affect us.” 

Mr. Dunster’s face was like marble. There were 


THE VANISHED MESSENGER 317 

beads of perspiration upon his forehead, his eyes were 
filled with reminiscent horror. Mr. Fentolin bent 
over him with genuine interest. 

“ What a picture he would make ! ” he murmured. 
“ What a drama ! Do you know, I am half inclined 
to agree with you, Sarson. The only trouble is that 
you have not your instruments here.” 

“ I could improvise something that would do the 
trick,” the doctor said thoughtfully. “ It really 
isn’t a complicated affair. It seems to me that his 
story may gain credence from the very fact of our 
being discovered in this extraordinary place. To 
have moved him here was a mistake, sir.” 

Perhaps so,” Mr. Fentolin admitted, with a sigh. 
“ It was our young friend Mr. Hamel who was re- 
sponsible for it. I fancied him arriving with a 
search warrant at any moment. We will bear in 
mind your suggestion for a few minutes. Let us 
watch Meekins. This promises to be interesting.” 

By dint of piling together all the furniture in the 
place, the man was now able to reach the trap-door. 
He pressed upon it vigorously without even bending 
the wood. Mr. Fentolin smiled pleasantly. 

“ Meekins,” he said, “ look at me.” 

The man turned and faced his master. His aspect 
of dogged civility had never been more apparent. 

“ Now listen,” Mr. Fentolin went on. “ I want to 
remind you of certain things, Meekins. We are 
among friends here — no secrecy, you understand, or 
anything of that sort. You need not be afraid! 
You know how you came to me.?* You remember that 
little affair of Anna Jayes in Hartlepool.? ” 

The face of the man was filled with terror. He be- 


3i8 the vanished MESSENGER 

gan to tremble where he stood. Mr. Fentolin played 
for a moment with his collar, as though he found it 
tight. 

‘‘ Such a chance it was, my dear Meekins,” Mr. 
Fentolin continued cheerfully, ‘‘ which brought me 
that little scrap of knowledge concerning you. It 
has bought me through all these years a good deal of 
faithful service. I am not ungrateful, believe me. I 
intend to retain you for my body-servant and to keep 
my lips sealed, for a great many years to come. 
Now remember what I have said. When we leave this 
place, that little episode will steal back into a far 
corner of my mind. I shall, in short, forget it. If 
we are caught here and inconvenience follows, well, 
I cannot say. Do your best, Meekins. Do a little 
better than your best. You have the reputation of 
being a strong man. Let us see you justify it.” 

The man took a long breath and returned to his 
task. His shoulders and arms were upon the door. 
He began to strain. He grew red in the face ; the 
veins across his forehead stood out, blue, like tightly- 
drawn string. His complexion became purple. 
Through his open mouth his breath came in short 
pants. With every muscle of his body and neck he 
strained and strained. The woodwork gave a little, 
but it never even cracked. With a sob he suddenly 
almost collapsed. Mr. Fentolin looked at him, 
frowning. 

“ Very good — very good, Meekins,” he said, “ but 
not quite good enough. You are a trifle out of prac- 
tice, perhaps. Take your breath, take time. Re- 
member that you have another chance. I am not an- 
gry with you, Meekins, I know there are many en- 


THE VANISHED MESSENGER 319 

terprises upon which one does not succeed the first 
time. Get your breath; there is no hurry. Next 
time you try, see that you succeed. It is very im- 
portant, Meekins, for you as well as for us, that you 
succeed.” 

The man turned doggedly back to his task. The 
eyes of the three men watched him — Mr. Dunster 
on the bed; Doctor Sarson, pale and gloomy, with 
something of fear in his dark eyes ; and Mr. Fentolin 
himself, whose expression seemed to be one of purely 
benevolent and encouraging interest. Once more the 
face of the man became almost unrecognisable. 
There was a great crack, the trap-door had shifted. 
Meekins, with a little cry, reeled and sank backwards. 
Mr. Fentolin clapped his hands lightly. 

“ Really, Meekins,” he declared, “ I do not know 
when I have enjoyed any performance so much. I 
feel as if I were back in the days of the Roman gladi- 
ators. I can see that you mean to succeed. You 
will succeed. You do not mean to end your days 
amid objectionable surroundings.” 

With the air of a man temporarily mad, Meekins 
went back to his task. He was sobbing to himself 
now. His clothes had burst away from him. Sud- 
denly there was a crash, the hinges of the trap-door 
had parted. With the blood streaming from a 
wound in his forehead, Meekins staggered back to his 
feet. Mr. Fentolin nodded. 

“ Excellent ! ” he pronounced. “ Really excellent. 
With a little assistance from our friend Meekins, you, 
I am sure, Sarson, will now be able to climb up and 
let down the steps.” 

Doctor Sarson stood by Mr. Fentolin’s chair, and 


320 THE VANISHED MESSENGER 

together they looked up through the fragments of the 
trap-door. Meekins was still breathing heavily. 
Suddenly they heard the sound of a sharp report, as 
of a door above being slammed. 

‘‘ Some one was in the boat-house when I broke the 
trap-door,” Meekins muttered. “ I heard them mov- 
ing about.” 

Mr. Fentolin frowned. 

“ Then let us hurry,” he said. ‘‘ Sarson, what 
about your patient.? ” 

Mr. Dunster was lying upon his side, watching 
them. The doctor went over to the bedside and felt 
his pulse and head. 

“ He will do for twelve hours,” he pronounced. 
“ If you think that other little operation — ” 

He broke off and looked at Mr. Fentolin mean- 
ingly. The man on the bed shrank back, his eyes 
lit with horror. Mr. Fentolin smiled pleasantly. 

“ I fear,” he said, “ that we must not stay for that 
just now. A little later on, perhaps, if it becomes 
necessary. Let us first attend to the business on 
hand.” 

Meekins once more clambered on to the little heap 
of furniture. The doctor stood by his side for a mo- 
ment. Then, with an effort, he was hoisted up until 
he could catch hold of the floor of the outhouse. 
Meekins gave one push, and he disappeared. 

‘‘ Any one up there ? ” Mr. Fentolin enquired*, a 
shade of anxiety in his tone. 

“No one,” the doctor reported. 

“ Has anything been disturbed ? ” 

Doctor Sarson was some little time before he re- 
plied, 


THE VANISHED MESSENGER 321 

“ Yes,” he said, “ some one seems to have been rum- 
maging about.” 

“ Send down the steps quickly,” Mr. Fentolin or- 
dered. “ I am beginning to find the atmosphere here 
unpleasant.” 

There was a brief silence. Then they heard the 
sound of the ladder being dragged across the floor, 
and a moment or two later it was carefully lowered 
and placed in position. Mr. Fentolin passed the 
rope through the front of his carriage and was drawn 
up. From his bed Mr. Dunster watched them go. 
It was hard to tell whether he was relieved or disap- 
pointed. 

“ Who has been in here ? ” Mr. Fentolin demanded, 
as he looked around the place. 

There was no reply. A grey twilight was strug- 
gling now through the high, dust-covered windows. 
Meekins, who had gone on towards the door, suddenly 
called out: 

“ Some one has taken away the key ! The door is 
locked on the other side ! ” 

Mr. Fentolin’s frown was malign even for him. 

‘‘ Our dear friend, Mr. Hamel, I suppose,” he mut- 
tered. Another little debt we shall owe him ! Try 
the other door.” 

Meekins moved towards the partition. Suddenly 
he paused. Mr. Fentolin’s hand was outstretched; 
he, too, was listening. Above the low thunder of the 
sea came another sound, a sound which at that mo- 
ment they none of them probably understood. There 
was the steady crashing of feet upon the pebbles, a 
low murmur of voices. Mr. Fentolin for the first 
time showed symptoms of fear. 


322 THE VANISHED MESSENGER 

“ Try the other door quickly,” he directed. 

Meekins came back, shaking his head. Outside, 
the noise seemed to be increasing. The door was 
suddenly thrown open. Hannah Cox stood outside 
in her plain black dress, her hair wind-tossed, her eyes 
aflame. She held the key in her fingers, and she 
looked in upon them. Her lips seemed to move, but 
she said nothing. 

“ My good woman,” Mr. Fentolin exclaimed, 
frowning, ‘‘ are you the person who removed that 
key.? ” ^ 

She laid her hand upon his chair. She took no no- 
tice of the other two. 

“ Come,” she said, “ there is something here I want 
you to listen to. Come ! ” 


CHAPTER XXXV 


Mr. Fentolin, arrived outside on the stone front of 
the boat-house, pointed the wheel of his chair towards 
the Hall. Hannah Cox, who kept by his side, how- 
ever, drew it gently towards the beach. 

Down here,” she directed softly. “ Bring your 
chair down the plank-way, close to the water’s edge.” 

“ My good woman,” Mr. Fentolin exclaimed furi- 
ously, “ I am not in the humour for this sort of thing ! 
Lock up, Sarson, at once; I am in a hurry to get 
back.” 

“ But you will come just this little way,” she con- 
tinued, speaking without any change of tone. “ You 
see, the others are waiting, too. I have been down 
to the village and fetched them up.” 

Mr. Fentolin followed her outstretched finger and 
gave a sudden start. Standing at the edge of the sea 
were a dozen or twenty fishermen. They were all 
muttering together and looking at the top of the 
boat-house. As he realised the direction of their 
gaze, Mr. Fentolin’s face underwent a strange trans- 
formation. He seemed to shrink in his chair. He 
was ghastly pale even to the lips. Slowly he turned 
his head. From a place in the roof of the boat-house 
a tall support had appeared. On the top was a 
swinging globe. 

‘‘ What have you to do with that.? ” he asked in a 
low tone. 


324 THE VANISHED MESSENGER 

“ I found it,” she answered. “ I felt that it was 
there. I have brought them up with me to see it. I 
think that they want to ask you some questions. 
But first, come and listen.” 

Mr. Fentolin shook her off. He looked around for 
Meekins. 

“ Meekins, stand by my chair,” he ordered sharply. 
‘‘ Turn round ; I wish to go to the Hall. Drive this 
woman away.” 

Meekins came hurrying up, but almost at the same 
moment half a dozen of the brown-jerseyed fishermen 
detached themselves from the others. They formed 
a little bodyguard around the bath-chair. 

“ What is the meaning of this ? ” Mr. Fentolin de- 
manded, his voice shrill with anger. ‘‘ Didn’t you 
hear what I said.?^ This woman annoys me. Send 
her away.” 

Not one of the fishermen answered a word or made 
the slightest movement to obey him. One of them, a 
grey-bearded veteran, drew the chair a little further 
down the planked way across the pebbles. Hannah 
Cox kept close to its side. They came to a standstill 
only a few yards from where the waves were break- 
ing. She lifted her hand. 

“ Listen ! ” she cried. ‘‘ Listen ! ” 

Mr. Fentolin turned helplessly around. The little 
group of fishermen had closed in upon Sarson and 
Meekins. The woman’s hand was upon his shoulder ; 
she pointed seaward to where a hissing line of white 
foam marked the spot where the topmost of the rocks 
were visible. 

“ You wondered why I have spent so much of my 
time out here,” she said quietly. “ Now you will 


THE VANISHED MESSENGER 325 

know. If you listen as I am listening, as I have lis- 
tened for so many weary hours, so many weary years, 
you will hear them calling to me, David and John and 
Stephen. ‘ The light ! ’ Do you hear what they are 
crying? ‘The light! Fentolin’s light!’ Look!” 

She forced him to look once more at the top of the 
boat-house. 

“ They were right ! ” she proclaimed, her voice 
gaining in strength and intensity. “ They were 
neither drunk nor reckless. They steered as straight 
as human hand could guide a tiller, for Fentolin’s 
light ! And there they are, calling and calling at the 
bottom of the sea — my three boys and my man. 
Do you know for whom they call? ” 

Mr. Fentolin shrank back in his chair. 

“ Take this woman away ! ” he ordered the fisher- 
men. “ Do you hear ? Take her away ; she is 
mad ! ” 

They looked towards him, but not one of them 
moved. Mr. Fentolin raised his whistle to his lips, 
and blew it. 

“ Meekins ! ” he cried. “ Where are you, Mee- 
kins ? ” 

He turned his head and saw at once that Meekins 
was powerless. Five or six of the fishermen had 
gathered around him. There were at least thirty 
of them about, sinewy, powerful men. The only 
person who moved towards Mr. Fentolin’s carriage 
was Jacob, the coast guardsman. 

“ Mr. Fentolin, sir,” he said, “ the lads have got 
your bully safe. It’s a year and more that Hannah 
Cox has been about the village with some story about 
two lights on a stormy night. It’s true what she 


326 THE VANISHED MESSENGER 

says — that her man and boys lie drowned. There’s 
William Green, besides, and a nephew of my own — 
John Kallender. And Philip Green — he was saved. 
He swore by all that was holy that he steered straight 
for the light when his boat struck, and that as he 
swam for shore, five minutes later, he saw the light 
reappear in another place. It’s a strange story. 
What have you to say, sir, about that ? ” 

He pointed straight to the wire-encircled globe 
which towered on its slender support above the boat- 
house. Mr. Fentolin looked at it and looked back 
at the coast guardsman. The brain of a Machia- 
velli could scarcely have invented a plausible re- 

ply. 

“ The light was never lit there,” he said. “ It was 
simply to help me in some electrical experiments.” 

Then, for the first time in their lives, those who 
were looking on saw Mr. Fentolin apart from his 
carriage. Without any haste but with amazing 
strength, Hannah Cox leaned over, and, with her 
arms around his middle, lifted him sheer up into the 
air. She carried him, clasped in her arms, a weird, 
struggling object, to the clumsy boat that lay always 
at the top of the beach. She dropped him into the 
bottom, took her seat, and unshipped the oars. For 
one moment the coast guardsman hesitated; then he 
obeyed her look. He gave the boat a push which 
sent it grinding down the pebbles into the sea. The 
woman began to work at the oars. Every now and 
then she looked over her shoulder at that thin line 
of white surf which they were all the time approach- 
ing. 

“ What are you doing, woman ? ” Mr. Fentolin de- 


THE VANISHED MESSENGER 327 

manded hoarsely. “ Listen ! It was an accident 
that your people were drowned. I’ll give you an an- 
nuity. I’ll make you rich for life — rich ! Do you 
understand what that means ? ” 

“ Aye ! ” she answered, looking down upon him as 
he lay doubled up at the bottom of the boat. “ I 
know what it means to be rich — better than you, 
maybe. Not to let the gold and silver pieces fall 
through your fingers, or to live in a great house and 
be waited upon by servants who desert you in the 
hour of need. That isn’t being rich. It’s rich to 
feel the touch of the one you love, to see the faces 
around of those you’ve given birth to, to move on 
through the days and nights towards the end, with 
them around; not to know the chill loneliness of an 
empty life. I am a poor woman, Mr. Fentolin, and 
it’s your hand that made me so, and not all the mira- 
cles that the Bible ever told of can make me rich 
again.” 

‘‘ You are a fool ! ” he shrieked. You can buy 
forgetfulness! The memory of everything passes.” 

“ I may be a fool,” she retorted grimly, “ and you 
the wise man ; but this day we’ll both know the truth.” 

There was a little murmur from the shore, where 
the fishermen stood in a long line. 

“ Bring him back, missus,” Jacob called out. 
‘‘ You’ve scared him enough. Bring him back. 
We’ll leave him to the law.” 

They were close to the line of surf now; they had 
passed it, indeed, a little on the left, and the boat 
was drifting. She stood up, straight and stern, and 
her face, as she looked towards the land, was lit with 
the fire of the prophetess. 


328 THE VANISHED MESSENGER 

“ Aye,” she cried, “ we’ll leave him to the law — 
to the law of God ! ” 

Then they saw her stoop down, and once more with 
that almost superhuman strength which seemed to 
belong to her for those few moments, she lifted the 
strange object who lay cowering there, high above 
her head. From the shore they realised what was 
going to happen, and a great shout arose. She 
stood on the side of the boat and jumped, holding 
her burden tightly in her arms. So they went down 
and disappeared. 

Half a dozen of the younger fishermen were in the 
water even before the grim spectacle was ended ; an- 
other ran for a boat that was moored a little way 
down the beach. But from the first the search was 
useless. Only Jacob, who was a person afflicted with 
many superstitions, wiped the sweat from his fore- 
head as he leaned over the bow of his boat and looked 
down into that fathomless space. 

“ I heard her singing, her or her wraith,” he swore 
afterwards. “ I’ll never forget the moment I looked 
down and down, and the water seemed to grow clearer, 
and I saw her walking there at the bottom among the 
rocks, with him over her back, singing as she went, 
looking everywhere for George and the boys ! ” 

But if indeed his eyes were touched with fire at that 
moment, no one else in the world saw anything more 
of Miles Fentolin. 


CHAPTER XXXVI 


Mr. John P. Dunster removed the cigar from his 
teeth and gazed at the long white ash with the air of 
a connoisseur. He was stretched in a long chair, 
high up in the terraced gardens behind the Hall. 
At his feet were golden mats of yellow crocuses ; long 
borders of hyacinths — pink and* purple; beds of 
violets; a great lilac tree, with patches of blossom 
here and there forcing their way into a sunlit world. 
The sea was blue ; the sheltered air where they sat 
was warm and perfumed. Mr. Dunster, who was oc- 
cupying the position of a favoured guest, was feeling 
very much at home. 

“ There is one thing,” he remarked meditatively, 
“ which I can’t help thinking about you Britishers. 
You may deserve it or you may not, but you do have 
the most almighty luck.” 

“ Sheer envy,” Hamel murmured. “ We escape 
from our tight corners by forethought.” 

“ Not on your life, sir,” Mr. Dunster declared vig- 
orously. “ A year or less ago you got a North Sea 
scare, and on the strength of a merely honourable un- 
derstanding with your neighbour, you risk your coun- 
try’s very existence for the sake of adding half a 
dozen battleships to your North Sea Squadron. The 
day the last of those battleships passed through the 
Straits of Gibraltar, this little Conference was plot- 
ted. I tell you they meant to make history there. 


330 THE VANISHED MESSENGER 

There was enough for everybody — India for Rus- 
sia, a time-honoured dream, but why not? Alsace- 
Lorraine and perhaps Egypt, for France ; Australia 
for Japan; China and South Africa for Germany. 
Why not? You may laugh at it on paper but I say 
again — why not ? ” 

“ It didn’t quite come off, sir,” Gerald observed. 

“ It didn’t,” Mr. Dunster admitted, “ partly ow- 
ing to you. There were only two things needed: 
France to consider her own big interests and to ig- 
nore an entente from which she gains nothing that 
was not assured to her under the new agreement, and 
the money. Strange,” Mr. Dunster continued, ‘‘ how 
people forget that factor, and yet the man who was 
responsible for The Hague Conference knew it. We 
in the States are right outside all these little jealous- 
ies and wrangles that bring Europe, every now and 
then, right up to the gates of war, but I’m hanged if 
there is one of you dare pass through those gates 
without a hand on our money markets. It’s a new 
word in history, that little document, news of which 
Mr. Gerald here took to The Hague, the word of the 
money kings of the world. There is something that 
almost nips your breath in the idea that a dozen men, 
descended from the Lord knows whom, stopped a 
war which would have altered the whole face of his- 
tory.” 

‘‘ There was never any proof,” Hamel remarked, 
“that France would not have remained staunch 
to us.” 

“ Very likely not,” Mr. Dunster agreed, “ but, on 
the other hand, your country had never the right to 
put such a burden upon her honour. Remember that 


THE VANISHED MESSENGER 331 

side by side with those other considerations, a great 
statesman’s first duty is to the people over whom he 
watches, not to study the interests of other lands. 
However, it’s finished. The Hague Conference is 
broken up. The oflScial organs of the world allude 
to it, if at all, as an unimportant gathering called 
together to discuss certain frontier questions with 
which England had nothing to do. But the memory 
of it will live. A good cold douche for you people, 
I should say, and I hope you’ll take warning by it. 
Whatever the attitude of America as a nation may 
be to these matters, the American people don’t want 
to see the old country in trouble. Gee whiz ! What’s 
that.? ” 

There was a little cry from all of them. Only 
Hamel stood without sign of surprise, gazing down- 
ward with grim, set face. A dull roar, like the boom- 
ing of a gun, flashes of fire, and a column of smoke 
— and all that was left of St. David’s Tower was 
one tottering wall and a scattered mass of masonry. 

“ I had an idea,” Hamel said quietly, that St. 
David’s Tower was going to spoil the landscape for 
a good many years. My property, you know, and 
there’s the end of it. I am sick of seeing people for 
the last few days come down and take photographs 
of it for every little rag that goes to press.” 

Mr. Dunster pointed out to the line of surf beyond. 

‘‘ If only some hand,” he remarked, “ could plant 
dynamite below that streak of white, so that the sea 
could disgorge its dead! They tell me there’s a 
Spanish galleon there, and a Dutch warship, besides 
a score or more of fishing-boats.” 

Mrs. Eentolin shivered a little. She drew her 


332 THE VANISHED MESSENGER 

cloak around her, Gerald, who had been watching 
her, sprang to his feet, 

“ Come,” he exclaimed, “ we chose the gardens 
for our last afternoon here, to be out of the way of 
these places! We’ll go round the hill.” 

Mrs, Fentolin shook her head once more. Her 
face had recovered its serenity. She looked down- 
ward gravely but with no sign of fear. 

“ There is nothing to terrify us there, Gerald,” 
she declared. The sea has gathered, and the sea 
will hold its own.” 

Hamel held out his hand to Esther, 

‘‘ I have destroyed the only house in the world 
which I possess,” he said. “ Come and look for 
violets with me in the spinney, and let us talk of the 
houses we are going to build, and the dreams we shall 
dream in them.” 


THE END 



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